Where Dark And Light Are Struck Asunder
by ShadowElfBard
Summary: BTVS:HP Willow needs to do some soul searching and heads to England, but her arrival brings some unwanted attention...
1. Leaving Sunnyhell

Where Dark And Light Are Struck Asunder 

Disclaimer: Hopefully you've read enough fanfic's to know the drill. If not, then too bad for you because I'm tired of saying it.

Rating: PG-13

**!!!Author's Note!!!: This is the only chapter that will be written in third person. Everything else will be in first**.

Time/setting: Um, an abyss-like time between the fourth and fifth book for Hp, and a month after Willow tried to destroy the world for Btvs.

Feedback: HELL YES! Erm, I mean… uh, please?

*********************************_ShadowElfBard_*********************************

It was raining the day she returned.

   It had been all week, and the rhythmic pounding of the water as it plummeted to the earth had never varied. Much like the actions of those in Sunnydale actually. Buffy still patrolled, Dawn went to school, Xander and Anya did their thing, and the gang researched while Spike grumbled and threatened. But still, despite the appearance of normality, there seemed to always be something out of place, something hard to detect. It was as if a statue had broken, and when everything had been glued back together, you found that there was a missing piece.

   That piece came back this afternoon.

   They were seated in various areas of the magic shop, Xander and Anya in a comfy recliner, Spike with his arms crossed in a hard, wooden chair, and Buffy at the table paying some bills she's brought over. With the exception of the blonde vampire everyone was talking and laughing, joking and reminiscing, though they tended ot shy away form the topic of their absent friend.

   Suddenly Spike's head has snapped in the direction of the entrance, his intense ice blue eyes staring, drawing the others attention that way.

   The door had opened slowly, almost hesitantly, and then, as though the person on the other side had managed to draw up enough courage, it was flung open with a mustered confidence.

   Ten eyes watched as Willow stepped into the threshold. She was wet, having no umbrella or raincoat, and the wisps of her scarlet fiery hair seemed a strange shade of black as they clung to the sides of her pale face. Her large emerald eyes were moist with raindrops, and her full red lips were drawn close as she stared out at her friends nervously, though hiding it well. Giles stood beside her with a wary smile, holding at his side a closed umbrella. He ushered her in with a gentle, almost fatherly touch, and then door closed behind them as they fully entered the shop.

   Silence hung thick, and the humans seated squirmed uncomfortably.

   "Erm, hey Wills," Xander said with a half smile. "Haven't seen you for a while."

   It was as if air had once again been let into the room. Everyone finally began grinning, and many stood to embrace their red-haired friend, excitedly talking about what she'd missed.

   She returned their hugs, though with silence and less enthusiasm, and for a moment at least, all was right with the world.

                                                                 *~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Giles?" Buffy approached her friend and former Watcher hesitantly. "Can I talk to you for a sec?"

   He glanced up at the slayer from a book on magickal runes that he'd been reading, and reassured her with a smile. "Of course, Buffy. What is it?"

   She sat down beside him with a sigh. "It's Willow." Her worried eyes met his. "She's done nothing all day but stare out at the rain from the window. She hasn't spoken a word. What's wrong with her?"

   Giles' pursed his lips and began cleaning his glasses, a nervous habit of his that he'd never been able to change.

   "Buffy, Willow has just come back form some rather vigorous sessions learning to control her magic. It also doesn't help that it… it didn't work as well as we'd hoped."

   The Chosen One's eyes widened. "What do you mean? Will she have a relapse? Is she going to be okay?"

   Giles' held up his hands in an effort to ward off her speedy and worried questions. "Please Buffy, calm down. It's nothing life threatening. It's just that she wasn't able to learn control to the full extent that she wanted. She's turned from the dark side of the moon but, to put it simply, it will be awhile before she is back to the way she was." He looked at her with sad eyes. "That's if she even returns at all."

   Buffy sat there, taking this all in, and for one of the first times in her life she was at a loss for words. She knew that it wouldn't be easy, after all Willow **_had_** tried to destroy the world, but she didn't understand. Her life and that of her friends had never been trouble-free, but it never took this long for things to bounce back, never. Why was it now? A sudden surge of resolve washed over her like a tidal wave. She couldn't let her friend slip away without a fight. She couldn't, and she wouldn't.

   She gazed at her former mentor with an intense devotion to her new cause. "What can I do to help, Giles?"

   As he opened his mouth to respond another voice piped in.

   "What about patrol?"

   They both turned to see Xander entering the room, eating a sandwich.

   "Patrol?" Buffy questioned skeptically.

   He shrugged. "Yeah, you know, slayage. Walks around cemeteries, staking the bad guys, joining together as a big happy family to enjoy the past time of turning vamps into ash." He took another bite. "It'd be like high school you know? Sort of bring back the warm fuzzy feelings of our younger years." He paused. "At least, as warm and fuzzy as it could be with demons and bumps in the night."

   Buffy raised an eyebrow at him but Giles was the one who spoke next. "Actually Xander, your method of psychology is, surprisingly enough, a sound idea. It could just have a positive effect on her."

   Xander's eyes grew wide and he pumped a fist into the air with a shout of happiness. "Score!"

                                                                 *~*~*~*~*~*

"Hey Willow!" Buffy called to her friend as she entered the main room.

   Sluggishly she turned her head and faced the slayer, blinking her eyes expectantly.

   Buffy glanced from Xander to Anya, both of whom stood by her. "Hey, we were wondering if you'd like to go on patrol with me, Xand, and Anya tonight. You know, help kill the baddies who are dead, only don't know it yet?"

   Willow dropped her head and stared at the carpet, and the friends who stood waiting for her answer exchanged nervous glances.

   She then looked up again, and gave a solemn nod of acceptance.

   Buffy let out a breath she was unaware she'd been holding. Maybe this would work after all.

                                                                  *~*~*~*~*~*

Patrol so far had been uneventful.

   Willow remained as quiet as ever, Xander and Anya's faces were practically stuck together, and despite Buffy's vigilant and watchful eyes, she hadn't been able to spot anything. That, and it was still raining.

   Until they'd arrived at the graveyard, Buffy hadn't been sure if there'd even be anyone out tonight. 

   They reached a cemetery where so many of Buffy's battles had taken place, and began to aimlessly walk around, not truly expecting to see anything, but wanting to be ready if they did.

    An angry and deafening roar broke through the silence as a large, scaled, horned demon came out form behind a tomb, charging straight for Anya and Xander.

   Though the two were momentarily frozen, Buffy sprang into action, whipping out a knife and leaping for the demon. The two wrestled briefly, but the demon was able to grab her shirt and fling her against a tree. With a wince, Buffy dismissed the minor setback and stood up, seeing that the monster had already focused back upon her friends. 

   "What, am I not enough for you?" she yelled tauntingly as she approached him, making him turn around. "Do you need to fight helpless innocents, you big, stinky coward!"

   The demon growled at her, severely ticked-off, and she ran for it with a cocky grin.

   What she didn't take into account was the rain soaked, and decidedly slippery ground.

   She slipped, and landed with a numbing jar on her back. 

   "Buffy!!" 

   Opening her eyes to Xander's desperate call, she saw that the demon was only a foot away, and was smirking, showing off his three sets of pointy fangs. Then, in a startlingly bright flash of blue and green, he blew up.

   The graveyard went deathly quiet, and all eyes turned to Willow.

   The impressive Wiccan stood solemn, her mouth still in a firm line, and not a bead of sweat on her forehead. She held out her hand in a 'stop' gesture, so that it resembled a crossing guard halting traffic, which would have been funny if not for the circumstances. With a practiced air she lowered her arm met the gazes of her friends. Her eyes were the only things that gave away how worried she was, much like a child fearful of reprimands.

   But, no one came to console her. Probably because they were much too frightened at the moment to notice.

                                                                  *~*~*~*~*~*~*   

It was an hour later. Willow had split up from them without a word, and the somber group had trudged back to the shop, still too shocked to speak. When they'd gotten back Giles had immediately noticed their baffled and upset faces, and had inquired as to how the patrol had gone. After he'd been told, he too had settled back in a seat and sat quietly.

   Spike had heard, and actually had the gall to laugh as he walked out into the kitchen to heat up a bag of blood.

    Then Willow returned. She opened the door, and stepped inside, and they noticed that she was still in the same drenched red sweater and black slacks that she'd been wearing earlier. The only actual difference was her composure, and the car keys in her hand.

    "Willow?" Anya asked tentatively, sensing that the moistness around the witch's eyes was not only because of the rain.

   Then, to the surprise of everyone, Willow spoke.

   "I'm sorry," It came out in an almost whisper. "I truly am so sorry."

   Buffy's mouth opened at once, ready to completely forgive her and re-welcome her with open arms, but a look from Giles cut off any comments she may have made.

   Willow took in a deep and steadying breath. "I'm leaving."

   Wide eyes and gaping mouths fully prepared to protest met the statement instantly, but a quiet "Why?" from Buffy was the only word that actually got out.

   Willow gave a harsh, rueful laugh that seemed uncharacteristic and unnerving. "I could list a dozen reasons why, but I think the main reason, is that I'm not ready. I didn't think I was when Giles and I left, and I was assured of that again tonight." Tears rose in the corner of the eyes. 

   "I'm powerful Buffy. I'm too powerful." Her voice elevated, anger in every word. "Do you realize that I could kill you right now?! You, Xander, Anya, Giles, even Spike?! I could kill every last one of you without so much as blinking and you wouldn't be able to stop me." 

   Tiny waterfalls cascaded down her cheeks and she drew in a shaky breath. "What happens when the sidekick becomes more powerful than the hero? What am I supposed to do? This power is… it's overwhelming, and it's intoxicating, and it's beautiful and I desire and curse it at the same time. And then I look in your eyes." 

   A sob broke loose. "I look in your eyes, a friend that has known me so long that we're like sisters, and I see your fear. You're frightened Buffy. You, Xander and Anya. Goddess, even the Coven was frightened of me! You're frightened of my power, of my stability, and deep down inside you're frightened that I might take over your role and become leader. Every one of you looks at me like I'm a time bomb, and that I'm only a few moments away from exploding, and I can't freaking take it anymore." 

   She turned away from them, hugging her arms, and then spoke in a soft, childlike voice full of raw emotion. "I'm sorry, but I have to go. I might come back. I might not. It doesn't really matter right now."

   She trudged her way to the door, slipped through, and was gone. Just like that. Leaving the others in a stunned, and stupefied silence.

* * *

Hope you like it so far. I'm working on other projects, so you'll have to wait a few days for an update, but I will get the ball rolling soon enough. Feedback is your friend!


	2. Arrival in London

**Disclaimer:**  [Twirls around and throws petals in the air singing] "Not mine, not mine, not m-i-i-ne…" 

**Rating: **PG-13

**Author's Note:** For some freaking reason I can't move this fic into the Buffy crossover section. Does anybody know how to help me?! Please! I'm desperate! 

**Story Note:** I'm making Willow bisexual. Deal with it.  …Please.

**Feedback:** I'll give you a cookie! (…) Okay, not **_really_**, but it was worth a shot.

*********************************_ShadowElfBard_*****************************************

10:27pm

On Flight 317 Bound To England

Willow's POV

I stare with half-interest at the rolling green fields and midnight blue lakes outside my window. Nothing really matters to me anymore. I can't appreciate the things that used to make my eyes go wide with wonder. Even the silvery moon hanging wraithlike amid the stars holds no beauty to me. Love seems a waste of time, music is a tuneless stream of garbled messages, and the simple splendor of nature is insignificant under my cold and detached gaze.

   I suppose that's what comes from having tried to destroy it all.

   Buffy didn't understand what was going on inside of me. I remember the look she gave me, the one full of confusion and hurt. Everyone else was a mirror image as well. They simply didn't understand. But, then again, how could they? Sometimes I'm not sure if I even understand myself. The Coven sure didn't. All the teachings, the sessions, and the lessons were pointless. None of them had ever met one with so much power, and they were foolish to think that they could teach me to fully control it. 

   I sigh and turn away from the small oval window, my jade eyes showing the burden I bare. I gaze around the modest airplane chairs, glancing from one sleeping face to another. There are a few who are still awake, workaholics who busily type away on their laptops, and a pre-teen who's reading an Anne Rice novel.

   I snort softly at the irony and shake my head. Such ignorant people. With all that goes on in this world you'd think that one would have raised suspicions. That one person might have thought that perhaps things weren't as they seemed. But no, delusion and ignorance is too blissful to destroy with the truth. These poor and fragile humans must have stability, scientific fact, and a sturdy ground. Without them, they fall apart. 

   It amazes me sometimes how easily I am able to isolate myself from the title of homo sapien. I suppose it's because it is the truth. I am no longer one of them, and, as I found out while staying with the Coven, I never was. The truth was spoken during a meeting with the Coven Master. She'd asked me, assuming I already knew, about whom my magickal blood had come from. 

   Of course, I'd had no answer for her, though I'd had many questions. After all, I'd been led to believe that anyone could become a witch. It was one of the first rules of Wicca. But it seems I believed wrong. It had been explained to me that witches, warlocks, and wizards were a race of their own. Wicca was true magick, but it could only be performed by those who descended from true magickal beings. Pure humans were simply led to believe that they too could do the magick.

   It still comes as a shock, the idea that I am not a human, and never was one. The idea that, perhaps, I find my place not among people, but among those whom Buffy might slay. It makes me question my lineage, and who I am. It's numbing and yet, partially expected. Once I'd started performing magick, deep down inside my core I'd begun to realize that it was my place to do so. 

   I remember the first major spell I'd done, restoring Angelus' soul. I remember how my spirit had soared and my blood sang as I'd drunk in the mystic forces. In that single moment, I'd truly been alive. I'd perceived what others couldn't, and I'd understood more than I'd have thought. Almost instinctively I'd known what magick was about, and I'd seen it's two halves. Perhaps somewhere, subliminally, I'd also known that throwing my inexperienced self into that world would be destructive. I hadn't learned how to balance the forces within me. I hadn't realized that I'd been slipping into the dark side of the magick I so craved. 

   I'm changed now. In more ways than my friends could possibly imagine. The happy and optimistic bookish girl who I once was is a mere shadow of my former self. A suffering and agonized woman who is bordering dangerously on depression has replaced her. Though, personally, I'm surprised I'm only bordering. 

    Suddenly interrupting my musings, and the dreams of others, is the pilot coming on the speaker.

   "Hello this is your captain speaking, we are approaching London and will be on the ground in a few minutes. It is ten twenty-eight and it's approximately fifty degrees Fahrenheit with a wind chill of five. We ask at this time that you return to your seat and remain seated for the remainder of the trip and, as always, thank you for flying United Airlines."

   Following the announcement, people began to shift in their seats and gather their things, nudging family members and those close to them awake. I too sit up straighter in preparation, but have no need to collect any personal items as the only thing I brought with me is a relatively large army green suitcase that I'll be getting at the luggage pick up.

   So, for the moment at least, I allow myself to relax and sit back in my seat, watching out the window as the ground rises up to greet us.

                                                          *~*~*~*~*~*~*

Passing my suitcase from one hand to another, I scan my surroundings. I walked far enough from the airport that I've begun to enter a rather rural area, and I still can't figure out what I should do next. I decided to come to London because I needed to get away from the states, and go somewhere new and fresh to reflect and, hopefully, feel a little more whole. I hadn't made any specific plans upon where I'd stay, or what I'd do, and I'm beginning to realize that it probably was not the wisest decision that I've made.

   After walking a block or so more, I catch sight of a bus stop and decide that unless I want to walk around until dawn, I should probably find some form of transportation. The bus is as good as anything else. Comfortable with my decision, I walk over to the bench and sit down, prepared to wait as long as needed in this empty and quiet neighborhood.

   I zip up my black jacket and fold my arms against the chill of night, which is harsh despite the fact that it's autumn, and absently let my gaze wander. Then, unexpectedly, something catches my eye. It's a woman by the side of the road, who appears to be entering her forties, with curly brown hair and long nimble fingers. She's adorned in a strange robe-like garment, and has a small purse on her shoulder that's stuffed to the brim. The weirdest thing though, is that in her right hand is a straight and well-polished stick. 

   I watch with mild curiosity as she raises her right arm, and then brings it down with a whoosh. She then just stands there, shifting her wait impatiently from one foot to another with an air of expectance.

   I realize that I'm staring and turn my head away from her, doing my best to ignore the questions that have arisen as a result of her strange and foreign manner.

   BANG!

   I snap my head around and look back at where the noise and light has come from, and see that a triple-decker bus painted a startlingly bright purple has just pulled to a stop in front of the lady. The doors open up and a man in a uniform the color of the bus jumps out and begins to talk loudly with her, though I'm unable to discern what he's saying. He then steps aside and lets the woman on, who's nodding her head in thanks, and after she's boarded he steps in as well. 

   Seeing the doors close, I snap out of the momentary trance I was put into and after grabbing my suitcase and standing up, begin running towards the bus and waving my hands wildly, yelling, "wait! Hold on please, wait!" 

   As I near the vehicle the doors open once more and a youth, a year or so younger than me, certainly no older than eighteen, and with pimples spread around his face, pokes his head out.

   He gazes at me and furrows his brows as I slow to a stop in front of him, my heart racing from the sprint.

   "I'd like to board as well," I manage to say, my voice a raspy whisper from it's lack of use over the past day. Afraid he didn't hear me, I clear my throat and repeat my request in a smoother tone.

   Apparently I'm speaking his language, because he grins so widely that the corners of his mouth nearly reach his ears.

   He begins talking, proclaiming this as The Knight Bus, but I'm concentrated on the strange design of the vehicle and miss quite a lot of what he's saying. I turn my attention back to him near the end of his little monologue.

   "-Hand, step on board, and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike and I will be your conductor this eve-"

   He stops abruptly, perhaps recognizing the fatigue and exhaustion that so visibly etched on my features.

   He smiles at me. "Woss you name then hm?"

   "Willow."

   He sticks out his hand. "Pleas'd to meet yah Willow. Where's it choo wanna go?"

   I hadn't decided upon that, and shrug. "I'll go where the woman who boarded before me is going."

   Stan nods. "Right then. You'll be 'eadin to Diagon Alley, and it'll be five sickles. But for eight you get 'ot chocolate, and for nine you get an 'ot water bottle an' a toofbrush in your choice of color."

   I stare at him stupidly, not understanding the currency he's explaining. "I, I just flew in from the U.S. I only have dollars, and I um…" I trail off, my eyes pleading.

   He frowns at me, but then sees the pain in my eyes, and his face softens. He seems to judge me scrupulously, but smiles. "Consider this an 'omplimentary ride then Willow."

   For the first time in months, I give a small grin. Following Stan, I lift up my trunk and enter the bus, and my eyes go wide in surprise. There are no seats, only rows of beds, and the woman I saw before is resting upon one of them in the back. A little taken aback, I sit down upon a cot near the driver, an elderly man in thick glasses who smells a little of mint chocolate.

   Stan points toward him. "This is our driver, Ernie Prang. This is Willow, Ern."

   Ernie turns slightly, nods his head in greeting, and turns back around again.

  Stan settles back in a seat near the driver. "Take 'er away, Ern."

  There's another bang, and the Bus takes off with such a tremendous force that it throws me back onto the bed. Finding myself comfortable in this position though, I make no move to get up. Instead, I lay back, my head rested on the pillow, and stare up at the ceiling.

    A few minutes later, there comes another loud bang, as I'm propelled into a sitting position once more. The bus has stopped, and looking out the window I see that we've reached a street called Diagon Alley, crowded with shops. Only one of which however, is lit up. A bar called The Leaky Cauldron.

   I stand up and grab my suitcase again, and after thanking both men profusely, step off of the bus, their warm wishes following me and the woman from before onto the sidewalk. Before I know it the strange bus and its drivers are gone, and I'm alone with the robed lady. She, however, pays no attention to me and takes off at a steady trot towards the bar. I stare after her for a moment or so and then shrug.

   _She's led me right so far,_ I think to myself, and then head off after her toward the lit up tavern. 

   I run a hand through my short red hair, thoroughly in need of something wet to cool my throat and a chair to rest my muscles, and I open the doors and step inside.

************************************************************************************

   By accident and accident alone Willow is unknowingly wandering closer to the wizarding world. What will be her reaction? How will it affect her? Who will she find? And, more importantly, who will find her?

   (_In cheesy radio announcer voice_) Tune in next time in the continuing adventures of: When Dark and Light are Struck Asunder!


	3. Two Snakes and A RedHead

**Disclaimer: **It's a rental. 

**Rating:** PG-13

**Better-Late-Then-Never Spoilers: ** Forgot to mention a few things, and so I feel it best to correct that error here. For Buffy, not much, but Spike and the slayer don't see each other anymore, Spike's chipped with NO soul, and… yeah, that's about it. For Hp, Harry recognized but never told anyone, besides his friends, about the Malfoy's at the Tri-wizard tournament, and you can expect me to blow away everything that happened in Ootp, and "make" my own fifth book free of any prophecy crap. My rambling is done, and you may now go on to read the fic. Bye!  

**Author's Note:** As the situation dictates, I will tend to slip in and out of third person in my writings. I choose the path that best benefits the scene, and will continue to do so. If, however, you, the reader, become extremely annoyed by this, just write to me in feedback and I'll do my best to stop. 

**Feedback:** Can't write without it!

***********************************_ShadowElfBard_***************************************

11:01pm

The Leaky Cauldron

Willow's POV

I enter the bar and immediately after the doors close behind me, I realize that things have decidedly gotten weird. 

   There are people here, dressed in robes and pointy hats. There are what I believe to be hags, wizards, and yes; even witches…and they're drinking beer. Oh goddess.

   I force myself to calm down, as my darting eyes and racing heart are attracting attention, and I keep my head down as I walk over to the bar, my mind trying to rationalize what I see here, even despite my years on the Hell mouth. 

   _Okay, there are a number of possible explanations. One: they take the name of this tavern way too seriously. Two: It's some sort of costume party. And three: I am truly in a London bar for magickal folk. Not much to choose from is there?_

   I'm trying to keep a shocked and extremely curious expression from my face as I sit upon a stool near the bartender, still clutching my suitcase. The bartender, who's just come back from filling an old woman's order, squints his eyes, as though I'm strangely familiar but he can't place his finger upon it. Finally he seems to give up, shrugs, and grins at me.

   "What'll it be then? Some butterbeer to warm your insides?"

  I shake my head absently, watching as a man, who I can only assume is a wizard, brews a potion upon his table.

   The bartender notices how inattentive I am, and follows my gaze to see what I'm so amazed at. His face scrunches up in confusion, and he shakes his head softly. He then looks me over, curious as a result of my strange manner.

   "Pardon me for asking so ma'm," he says, finally succeeding in drawing my attention towards him. "But did you just come back from a costume party or something?" his grin widens. "You look an awful lot like a muggle."

   Baffled, I quirk my eyebrow at him, but before I can respond, loud, almost thundering laughter demands my notice. I spin in my stool seat and am faced with the largest man I have ever seen in my life. He's nearly three times my size, and has a thick black beard and caterpillar eyebrows. He's dressed in an equally large brown, shabby coat, and only the kindness that twinkles in his eyes keeps me from drawing forth a means of protection. 

   "Don't mind Tom 'ere, he likes to have a bit o' fun with newcomers," the large man said warmly. He sticks out a large hand. "Pleased to meet you by the way. Name's Hagrid." 

   With a mustered confidence I greet him in a handshake, keeping my face nearly expressionless. "Willow."

   He drinks deeply from his mug before talking next. "Willow is it? Interestin' name. Course there's lots of those round here." He seems to size me up. "You here getting' supplies for school? You look a year or two old to be a student." Then he winks playfully. "Though with that hair you could be Weasley relative coming to visit…"

   "Well, actually I think I've come here by mistake. I… I was looking for a bank." 

   He blinks at me for a moment or two, and then bursts out laughing. A few heads snap our way, but then notice that it's only Hagrid, smile knowingly, and return to their drinks and conversations. After he's stopped laughing, Hagrid grins at my puzzled face.

   "I'm sorry, it's just that I realized you're an American. We don't get too many of them 'round here." He scratches his beard thoughtfully. "Looking for a bank you say? Well the closest one's Gringotts on Diagon Alley…"

   Once again, I'm frustrated to say, that I'm not understanding anything. "But I thought that **_this _**was Diagon Alley."

   He gives me an almost pitying look. "It is, but not the main part." Realizing that I'm still not following, he sighs loudly and stands up. "Come on."

   After a few seconds of deliberating, I rise and follow him, bringing along my luggage. He leads me out a back door into an enclosed, walled courtyard, undecorated save for a trashcan and a few weeds. 

   He approaches the wall by the trashcan and starts counting bricks with an umbrella I hadn't noticed he held. His eyebrows are knotted in concentration, but after a few taps they relax. That's when I notice that the bricks he touched, and all the other bricks, are moving. They wriggle and melt and move and quiver, and soon an archway, big enough even for this giant of a man, appears. With wide eyes I look on, gazing at a cobbled walkway past the arch that twists and turns until it's out of sight.

   Hagrid points with one finger. "To find Gringotts you go down the path till you reach the broom store, and then turn right at the glow lamps and follow it past Knockturn Alley (wouldn't want to end up there, no sir) and after passing Bernie Botts just head left and continue down till you reach the large white building. You can't miss it."

   I blink.

   "It was nice ter meet you Willow. Take care of yourself." Then he waves, turns, and walks back into the bar, leaving me alone to face the archway, and what strange things lied behind it. 

   That man has just performed magick, magick on an enchanted wall no doubt, and that means that… well, it means something that I'm not yet prepared to think aloud. 

   And now back to the more pressing situation. I need to exchange my money, of that there's no doubt, and I don't want to wander all night… so, Gringotts. Hmm. It's worth a shot.

    So with a shrug, I head off down the cobblestones.

                                                             *~*~*~*~*~*~*

Where am I?

   I gaze around the street once more, my anger rising. Go left at the… and right at the…. Head down to the… avoid the… ARGHH!!! I hate being lost. I don't like losing control of the situation, ANY situation, and this is one of the ones at the top of my list. I'm alone in a strange and foreign place that smells so strongly of magick that I'm a hair away from giving in to temptation, I was given the worst directions in the history of directions, and I feel like I'm in high school again as a result of all the stares my attire is receiving. Yeah, like *I'm* the weirdly dressed one.

   The only slightly good thing seems to be the fact that a small amount of old willow-ness has returned because of my stress. 

    Whoop. Dee. Do.

   Muttering heatedly under my breath, I retreat from the glow of the lamps I was standing under, and head off down an alley. If I can't find the place maybe I can ask a passerby for help. I can't see how much more damage can be done tonight, and, after all, what's one more spot of bad luck anyway? I've had enough as of late to be used to it by now.

    As I travel farther and farther down the stone road, my mind briefly suggests heading back before an almost primal need silences it. I'm surrounded, completely surrounded, by dark magick. It emanates from the stores, the people, and I can taste it in the very air I breathe. Before, the other suggestions I'd been teased with trying to follow Hagrid's instructions, that was child's magick. That was infant's play… when compared to this.

   This, this is ecstasy. This is a senior-junkie-held-from-grade-A-stuff addiction. And who am I to ignore its call?

   With a small smile that's not wholly innocent, the witch inside of me rises up; hungrily gazing with a scrupulous eye at all this fortunately found alley has to offer. There are occult shops and cursed items, and people with dark energy. Soooo many people, and soooo much magick. My eyes briefly close as I take it all in with joy. Then, better late then never, a previously bound conscientious breaks free and battles down the dark urges within me.

   With wide eyes I realize how close I was to throwing aside what little control I'd been trying to build up, and shame floods through me. Self-loathing is not far behind and I feel like I want to tear my hair out in agony. I begin to curse myself for my weakness, all the while trying to block myself off from the aromas and tantalizing suggestions whispered into my ear by something far more seductive than any human will have to face. And, as a result of all that's going on, I don't notice someone's approached until I hear the voice.

   "Hello."

   Startled, I spin around and take an involuntary step back to allow space for me to either fight or flee. Survival instincts are just so helpful aren't they? But, the strange and unthreatening sight that greets me causes rationality and curiosity to hold me in place.

   In front of me is a man and a boy, both near identical copies of the other. The man is a little taller then me and perhaps only ten years older, and the boy is about Dawn's age, roughly fourteen or fifteen. Both carry themselves in a confident manner, though perhaps a bit too haughty for my liking, and are dressed in fine, black, and clearly expensive robes. They have blue-gray eyes, chilling and dangerous, and though the man wears his long and the boy wears his slicked back and short, their hair is the same light, almost bleached blonde shade. If it weren't for logic, I would swear that they're Spike's relatives. 

   The man gives a small bow, a diminutive and carefully hidden smirk on his deceptively handsome face. "I'm sorry if I startled you. It was certainly not my intention."

   I shake my head softly, trying to ignore the chills that rose up my spine when I heard his smooth and unsettling voice. "No, it's all right." 

   I can smell the dark magick coming off of him, and unlike me I doubt he's trying to turn away from it. And so I stand up straighter, my chin held just a tad higher than before. It's best to watch your footing when staring down a tiger. Be confident, but be ready to either fight or run if it doesn't work.

    The man looks amused while the boy, who I assume is either his clone or his son, is nothing more than bored and annoyed. For a moment he meets my gaze and he looks ready to curl his lip into a sneer. He decides against it though, and settles for a glare. 

   Such a charming child.

   "So… do you have a name?" I ask, folding my arms against something other than the frigid air.

   The man nods his head. "Yes, of course, forgive me. My name is Lucius. Lucius Malfoy." He indicates the boy. "This is my son, Draco." He raises an eyebrow. "And your name dear?"

   I clear my throat. "It's Willow."

   "Willow? A good name." 

   Were my eyes not already looking upon his I would have missed the momentary spark of recognition that he so hurriedly hid. This man is slick all right.

   Lucius then looks at me quizzically. "So what might a young lady such as yourself be doing here in Knockturn Alley?" ever so subtly his grin changes into a leer. "I've heard this lane to be quite… dangerous, at times."

   _Knockturn Alley? So _this _is the place Hagrid warned me away from. Smart Hagrid, dumb Willow. No wonder he told me to steer clear._

"Actually, I'd been looking for Gringotts. It seems I've taken a wrong turn."

   He chuckles, the sound hauntingly resembling dry leaves in an autumn wind. "Yes, you've taken quite a wrong turn indeed if you were searching for Gringotts. Quite a wrong turn indeed…"

   He turns and points behind him with a black cane that had remained oblivious to me before. "Follow that way to leave here, and then turn right. Keep going straight and you'll reach the bank within minutes."

   I smile softly. "Thank-you."

   He raises an eyebrow. "Are you sure you wouldn't like me to accompany you? It's no trouble."

   I shake my head. "No, but thanks all the same. I- I think I can find it on my own." I nod my head. "Thank you again."

   And then, never once looking back, I walk past them down the supposed path to Gringotts, ready to go find out where I am, and what the hell is going on.

                                                            *~*~*~*~*~*~*

Lucius Malfoy watches the petite but obviously powerful redhead walk away with something akin to regret. But, being strong of will and intelligence, he does not give in to his primal urges to run after her. Magick is powerful thing yes, especially the bonds it creates, but Lucius is the master of his magick, not the other way around. 

   But still he could not deny the temptation to ignore that, to simply let the calling within him be answered. It was, after all, such a powerful thing, and men more experienced than himself had fallen prey to it before. Unlike with magnetism, where the strongest bond was with like and unlike, types of magick sought those like itself, and that's how it's been since the beginning of wizardry. It's what made it so influential.

   And Lucius had definitely heard the call and felt the pull. It amazed him that not everyone around him had felt it, (though he secretly thought it was because they were not as strong as him), but he hadn't stood still and questioned it. He'd been dropping off another load of… "Questionable" items at Burgin and Burkes, and had decided to indulge his son and let him browse the shop, when it had felt as if his entire essence had been wrapped in a warm lover's embrace that pulled at his heart and whispered promises of glory. He'd been set into a momentary trance that Mr. Borgin had finally shaken him out of with his incessant and decidedly irritating questions of worry. Once he'd come out of it he'd been a man on a mission, kamikaze or otherwise, and no one was going to stand in his way. He'd grabbed his son by the scruff of his robe and, despite the annoying and whiny protests he made in the beginning (before seeing that look in his father's eyes and realizing he needed to shut up), he'd followed without question. 

   He'd navigated his way down the dank and smelly alley by a feeling that burned at his core and intensified as he got nearer to the source. As he'd hunted down the cause of the sensation he'd been a jumbled mix of emotions. He'd been frightened, curious, driven, and had even had brief moments of an almost fanatic obsession to find what it was he sensed that was so seductively wonderful. And he had good reason to be like this, a reason that was the foundation for his fear.

   After all, the only other times he'd felt this way had been when Lord Voldemort had summoned him. It was a terrifying revelation to even consider that there was someone near his power, let alone sense it. And as he'd drawn closer, the power slowly and painstakingly rising in intensity, he'd even feared for a few petrifying moments that it **_was_** Lord Voldemort, and that he was under disguise, and that by approaching him he'd accidentally ruin a grand plan of some sort. 

   But then he'd seen her.

   Well, rather it wasn't **_her_** he saw, (though his mind did register the striking young woman), but her magick. The dark, swirling forces within her, the potential, the pure, raw, and unfocused power that seeped from her being and surrounded her like a morning mist. He'd become drunk on the smell of her, the mere **_sight _**of her. Such magick, a magick whose strength would only grow once she learned to control it. That magick was a realm of its own, it was more delightfully delicious than ambrosia, and it was wrapped in such a wonderfully innocent little package. But the best part of all was that she didn't even know it! She was completely and utterly oblivious to the effects it had on him, and, thinking back upon the stares she'd been receiving, on everyone around her. It was so perfect, so ideal, that Lucius had even doubted its genuineness. For to find someone with such power was a blessing in itself, but to find someone with such power who was unaware of its true potency was a gift from the gods! Sure she'd known that she had potential, he could sense that right off, but she'd had no idea, not even the faintest clue as to exactly how much she had.

   And that worked just fine for Lucius. Because he'd decided that such a remarkable person should not remain anonymous forever, not with the opportunities that she could give the Dark Lord, and her finding out about it would be… disappointing.

   "Dad," Draco says, reminding his father that he's not alone. "You spent all your time chatting with that insignificant red-head, and it's getting late and cold, and I **_still _**haven't eaten, and-"

   Lucius sneers. "Be silent. It's not your place to question how I spend my time. We're going back to the manor now so stop your complaining. If you want food then order the house elves to fix you some when we return." 

   His son folds his arms and snorts the equivalent of a 'humph!' before sullenly following his father down the path into the night, wondering in the back of his mind just who the girl was, and why she was so important that her father took the time to assist her. But he put that thought away because, as his grumbling stomach reminded him, there were other, more important things to take care of. 

************************************************************************************

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	4. Goblins, Sticks, and Wizards, Oh My!

**Disclaimer:** I own this like I own Microsoft. (Blank stares and cricket chirping) I don't own Microsoft, and I don't own these characters. That's why it's funny. (Receives a collective "O-o-o-oh" of understanding) 

**Rating:** Need I say it again? It's not like the rating is going to deter you or anything. You'd probably still read it if it was NC-17. Not that it is of course, but still- oh. Sorry. I'll shut up now.

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**************************************_ShadowElfBard_************************************

11:36pm

Outside Of Gringotts Bank

(**Willow's POV**)

Letting out a sigh of pure relief, I use what little energy I have left to smile at the large snowy white building in front of me. To tell the truth I hadn't actually thought that I'd make it this far. I surely didn't expect for the directions that Lucius gave me to be true, and I'm equally surprised that my legs didn't give out two blocks back. 

   I run a hand through my hair and try to stand up a little straighter as I walk up the steps to the building. In the back of my mind I'm vaguely shocked that this bank is still open, (after all it's probably near midnight), but I'm too exhausted to take notice of it. Besides, it probably means I won't have to wait in line a long time. I approach the silver doors and start to enter; when I take notice of the fact that a poem has been engraved upon them. I pause, read through it, and raise my eyebrows in appreciation of the poet's talent. Then, realizing that I'm standing in front of a bank in nearly five below weather, reading a poem at the late hours of the night, I grimace and walk into the building.

   And after I glance around the large, polished room, taking note of the few people inside and the many doors, I notice something in particular that strikes me as rather odd.

   The bank is run by goblins.

   Goblins. Short, sharp-toothed, long fingered, old, treasure-hoarding fairy tale goblins. Everywhere. They're cashing checks, leading people back into rooms, counting coins, exchanging bills… and everyone is acting as though it's the most normal thing in the world. 

   I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore, Toto.

  "Ahem." 

   I look down and am greeted by the owner of the gruff voice, who is, predictably, a goblin.

   The creature taps his foot impatiently and pushes up a small pair of spectacles that have slid down his rather large nose. "Are you in need of assistance?"

    I close my mouth, which was previously hanging open, and nod deftly. He takes this slight motion of my head as an affirmative answer, gives a sneer that could be pleasant or threatening, and motions for me to follow him to a desk. I take a seat on the client's side, and he on the other. His seat is raised however, so I don't have to worry about holding back laughter. 

   He then stares at me, and blinks.

   I blink back.

   He sighs and rolls his eyes, speaking so slowly and concisely that it's nearly insulting. "What can I do for you ma'm?"

   "Oh, I uh, I have to exchange some bills… for money. Your money, I mean, cause, you know, I already have money. But I'm not asking for **_your_** money specifically, I meant this country's type of money because it would be silly to just ask for your money, and I don't think that you're allowed to just hand over personal money, though this bank is sort of weird so it's possible but-"

   "Stop!" the goblin almost shouts, covering his large ears with a pained expression on his face. 

   I blush, and mumble an apology.

   "It's alright. Just don't ever do that again." he looks at me pointedly. "**_Ever_**."

   "Okay," I say softly, not trusting myself to form a sentence.

   He straightens a small, bow-like tie on his uniform, and appears to have collected himself. "Very well, an exchange." He dips a quill in ink and holds it over a piece of parchment steadily. "Your name?"

   "Willow."

   He looks up from his paper. "Your **_full_** name please." 

   "Oh. It's Willow Rosenberg."

   I then watch with unease as he accidentally blots the page. His eyes bore a hole into me, and he whispers, "What was that last name again?"

   "Rosenberg," I repeat, though a bit more shakily. 

    I grow tense in my seat. More than one goblin is looking over in our direction, probably responding to this guy's strange reaction, and I suddenly feel very nervous. Something's wrong. Something's very, very wrong…

   And so it is. 

   With an energy I'd doubted the little guy carried in his body, the goblin who was serving me leaps up onto the desk and shouts at the top of his lungs, "Thirty-two twenty-four! It's a thirty-two twenty-four!"

   As my eyes widen with alarm, every goblin abandons their customer and whips out a long, thin stick that is similar to ones that I've seen others carrying. And, taken completely by surprise, I don't even have time to call forth my own magick as a stream of brilliant orange light blinds my eyes and sets off fireworks in my head. Fortunately, my last thought turns out the light before it leaves…

                                                             *~*~*~*~*~*~*

Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, grumbled discontentedly as pulled his satin robe tighter around his body. He had been awakened from a pleasant sleep full of dreams of the rather nice-looking witch in the temp office, and he was not pleased. He hadn't even had time to get dressed for Merlin's sake! He was still clothed in the pin-stripe two-piece pajama set he'd gone to bed in, plus his scarlet nightcap, blue slippers, and starry satin robe. He'd thought about ignoring the owl from Gringotts all together and waiting till morning to see what the bloody hell was so darn important that he had to come all the way down himself, but when the first owl had been ignored the second one had pecked him on the head. He was going to have a bruise in the morning, he just knew it…

   He yawned a sleepy yawn as he entered the Gringotts building, three of his bodyguards behind him in matching red robes. Security had been stepped up ever since the rumors had started spreading about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named at the Tri-Wizard tournament, and though Fudge knew it was all nonsense, he still thought it best to have some extra muscle. Protection never hurt anyone right?

   Trying to stifle a second yawn and failing miserably, the Minister of Magic approached the Head Goblin of Gringotts who stood waiting for him with arms crossed inside the nearly empty building. 

   "Yes? What is it? What's so important that you had to interrupt my sleep?"

   The creature's face remained expressionless. "If you'll just follow me sir, Dumbledore has already been contacted and is on his way." he turned and started heading towards a door in the back of the room.

   Cornelius nearly let his mouth drop open at being so rudely brushed aside, (and by a **_goblin_** no less!), but kept his protests to himself once he heard the name that had been mentioned. He followed after the Head Goblin, a sudden feeling of dread in his stomach.

   "**_Dumbledore_**? Albus Dumbledore is coming?" 

   The implications were astounding. Fudge glanced back at his bodyguards worriedly, making sure they were still there and protecting him. If it was so important that even Dumbledore was coming then it was not good news. Not good news at all.

   The five of them, bodyguards and all, entered a railway cart and began heading down a track into the underground caverns of Gringotts, silence thick in the air. After perhaps five minutes of riding, they came to a complete stop at a large stone door that was flanked on both sides by two menacing goblins, their wands held stiffly at their side. 

   The Head Goblin got out and nodded in greeting to both sentinels, before turning around to face Fudge and his protectors.

   "Nearly fifteen minutes ago, a witch whose name is on the lists of the exiled, entered Gringotts to do business with one of our employees. Luckily she was subdued and brought down here to await your arrival minister. She has not been harmed," he then gave a toothy and frightening grin, "not yet at least."

   Cornelius's mouth dropped open. "That's it? That's what I was called down here for? A banished witch?" he pressed his lips into a thin line angrily. "I hope there's more to it then that. I do not take the interruption of my slumber lightly."

   If possible, the Head Goblin looked just as angry, though for a different reason. Goblins did not take the insulting of their methods well.

   "Forgive me, **_minister_**, but it was added into our record books that Ms. Rosenberg is to be considered extremely dang-"

   "Wait," Fudge interrupted, his face now a pale, sickly white. "What is the witch's name?"

   "Willow Rosenberg," the goblin drawled out slowly, taking delight in the minister's reaction.

   With as shaking hand Cornelius pointed towards the door. "And, and she's in, in there?"

   The Head Goblin nodded.

   Fudge suppressed a un-minister like squeak of terror, and began talking swiftly. "Where's your owlery? I've got to get a message off to Azkaban at once, they'll need to bring transport and dementor's and-"

   "That won't be necessary Cornelius."

   Everyone turned around to see a second cart pull up, Albus Dumbledore at the front. He was wearing his midnight blue robe ensemble, and his silvery hair flowed around him mystically. His half moon glasses were set atop his crooked nose, and his eyes twinkled with that magickal mix of mischief and kindness that had become his trademark. He stepped out of the cart gracefully, and after thanking the goblin that'd brought him, turned and faced his audience.

   Fudge at the moment though, was much too frightened and panicked to show the usual respect and awe he had for the wizard before him, and irritation was clearly detectable in his voice. 

   "I won't have you interfering this time Dumbledore, it's not your place. That, that… **_creature_** almost destroyed the **_world_**. Now, the ministry let it go without an Azkaban sentencing because we had… other, more important things to take care of at the time, but she was exiled! And now, now that she's violated that banishment, she'll just have to pay the price." Fudge folded his arms and tried to put on a face of resolve, though in actuality he was shaking at the knees.

   Dumbledore merely raised an eyebrow, amusement on his aged face. But, to his credit, he did not insult the minister, or use the many openings unknowingly given to him to point out the ministry's faults in the matter, but that was nothing new. Dumbledore was famous for many things, from his enormous power to his many accomplishments, but the one thing that many loved and adored about him was his almost never-ending patience, tranquility, and kindness.

   Albus folded his hands peacefully. "Please minister, I am aware of the punishment for one who returns unauthorized form exile, but did you consider, that perhaps **_she _**did not know of them?" he gave him a placating look. "Before taking this further, could we not find out her reasons for returning?"

   Cornelius mentally clenched his fists, his frustration growing. He wanted to say flat-out 'no', but as always, Dumbledore made it nearly impossible to do so. It's hard to refuse someone who always has logical and solidly based arguments, and who presents them in a calm manner. There was not much that Fudge wouldn't give to see Dumbledore lose his patience once, or insult someone or… or just act plain normal! But, he doubted that it would ever happen. Certainly not tonight in any case.

    After a few more seconds of silent deliberating, he finally relented. "All right Dumbledore. We can ask her about her 'reasons'. I'll indulge you, but only on two conditions."

    Dumbledore remained silent and gave a nod, indicating that Cornelius should continue.

    "First, you have to be sure you can handle her, I won't put my- …I won't put my guards in danger, and second, understand that **_I'm_** making the final decision." He glared up at him harshly. "Am I understood?"

    "I understand Cornelius, and agree to your terms." He indicated the door. "Shall we enter?"

   Fudge gave a curt nod, and then motioned for the Head Goblin to undo the many mechanisms and protective precautions keeping the witch on the other side from breaking free.

                                                            *~*~*~*~*~*~*

11:52 pm

Gringotts Underground, Vault 409

**(Willow's POV)**

"Uhggg," I groan rather pathetically, moving to a sitting position, my eyes still closed. It feels like an all-percussion symphony is playing in my head, and the acoustics are incredible. The orchestra is on a ten-city tour of my brain, and I have a season pass with front row seats. 

   Oh goddess, I'm thinking metaphorically. Just how badly was I hurt?

   I give a weak laugh that helps to calm a few fears, and try to glance around through squinted eyes. When I realize how dim the lighting is, I open them fully, and almost loose another moan as I realize that there is nothing to look at. The room is completely empty, save for a torch that's hanging by the door. Unluckily for me however, the door and room is made of stone. There will be no burning my way out of here. 

   I frown. Then again, where is here? I remember vaguely talking with the goblin at the bank, and then they all pulled out… sticks. Sticks? That can't be right. I must have damaged something when I went unconscious. Next I'll have memories of Giles and I dancing ballet in bunny suits. 

   Try as I might, I can't suppress the giggle that bursts out at the mental image.

   I am, however, able to stifle it quickly enough when I hear the door being opened. 

   As I scuttle backwards and press up against the wall, I wonder how it is that all bad guys are able to arrive just after their victim regains consciousness. I also wonder how it is that even when I go to London I manage to get kidnapped. I'll have to remember to ask my mother if it's ever happened to her. It might be a 'Rosenberg' thing.

   I watch with a wary eye as a goblin enters the room and holds the door open for five other people. Three are in identical robes and I judge quickly enough that they're of no real importance, but the other two grab my full attention. What I notice, first and foremost, is that they're not goblins (to which I'm secretly grateful). One is short and stocky, though he carries himself with self-importance and commanding presence. His color choices are atrocious, (though who am I to question?), and he appears, strangely enough, frightened of me. The second man is almost completely opposite in contrast, and is tall, thin, and ancient looking. He is not afraid of me, but nor is he angry with me, and beneath his grandfather form I can sense his power and strength. I am immediately comforted by his presence, and I find myself standing up, my fears put at ease.

    The man with the horrendously matched clothing shifts his weight from side to side nervously before a growing frustration finally bursts out of him. "Oh fine! I'll talk first." He strides up to me quickly. "Why did you violate the terms of your banishment?"

   My jaw nearly hits the floor. "My **_what_**?"

   He narrows his eyes, rage overtaking his earlier fear. "Don't play games with **_me_**, Rosenberg. You know as well as I do that you were banished indefinitely from the wizarding world."

   I doubt I could be more shocked if Spike suddenly declared that he was a transvestite. A wizarding world? As in a world for wizards? And I was **_banished_** from it? 

   I hold up my hands as though to ward off all the information that's flying at me so rapidly, and the man in front of me flinches as though I'd taken a swing at him. I quirk my eyebrow, but don't comment. "Okay, I'd like to answer your question, I really would, but I have a few to ask you before I can even make sense of what's being asked."

   I take a deep breath. "First off, what in the hell dimensions do you mean when you say 'wizarding world'? Is it a metaphor, a realm, a… a what exactly?"

    He scoffs. "Oh knock it off Rosenberg, your tricks won't work on me. You know about the wizarding world as well as I do."

   I shake my head. "No, no I don't."

   He freezes, and his features scrunch up in bafflement. The goblin just curls his upper lip into a sneer, (which he has been doing the entire time), and the wiser looking wizard appears mildly surprised and raises his snowy eyebrows. It is he who talks next.

   "Well Cornelius, if that is indeed the case then it would change matters a bit, wouldn't you agree?" 

   Cornelius sputters a bit before responding. "But that's, that's preposterous Dumbledore! There's just, there's just no way that she wouldn't know, she, she has to be lying or-"

   "Hey!" I snap, feeling anger rising up. "I don't lie. If anyone here should be skeptical about what they hear it should be me. After all, I'm not the one who kidnapped somebody and locked them in a stone cell now am I?"

   "'Kidnapped'?!" Cornelius repeats, outraged. "Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, does not 'kidnap' anyone."

   "Could have fooled me," I retort.

   His face reddens. "You were detained, Rosenberg. Not kidnapped. You were detained as a result of your voluntary breaking of a sentence imposed upon you nearly a month ago!"

   "A sentence that I was not aware of!" my eyes flash with rage, and I clench my fists, digging my nails into my palm. "And I am not '**_Rosenberg_**', Mr. Chocolate. I have a name."

   "One that you are unfit to be called by," he hisses.

   That does it. I bite my lip and try to suppress the magick that's rising up within me. I can already feel the forces swirling around me, can almost see the subtle change in my hair color from red to black, but I still fight to keep it under control.

   For a few agonizing moments, the world seems to slow.      

   The guy, Fudge or whatever, nearly squeaks and begins to hastily back up against the wall and away form me. His bodyguards have brought out sticks, and the goblin has tensed up for a possible fight. And though I'm battling it down, energy within me is breaking free, loosing sparks around my fingertips.

   And then, unexplainably, I feel an immense calm rush over me. I breathe out slowly, and it's as if a whirlpool has suddenly drained away my anger. My hair returns to its normal shade, and I once again become, more or less, normal.

   I open eyes I didn't know I'd closed, and find myself staring into the depthless serenity of Dumbledore's blue eyes. He is holding one of those sticks I've seen everywhere of late, and his mouth is etched into a firm line. He sighs silently through his nostrils and gazes upon me coolly.

   "I assume you're feeling better now Ms. Rosenberg?"

   I nod, relishing the feeling of peace that's come over me and afraid that it'll disappear if I choose to talk. 

   Cornelius looks out shakily from behind his shield, (one of his guards), and then walks forward and clears his throat, trying to regain some form of dignity. 

   "I uh, thank you Dumbledore, for ah, for regaining control of the erm, the situation." He tries to smile, but is still trembling too much for it to be successful.

   "You are most welcome Cornelius, though I would suggest that you not provoke Ms. Rosenberg in the future. It is most unbecoming to argue with and insult a woman so much younger than yourself." 

   "Oh, er, yes, yes of course." The minister tries to once again dispose of the tremor in his voice. "What is it exactly that you did Dumbledore?"

   "I merely used an empathic spell and gave her a sense of calm." He tilts his head to gaze at me. "It's a simple spell, but it seems to have worked nicely."

   Feeling the nice, soothing feeling slowly drain away, I reluctantly join the conversation again. "So, let me get this straight, I've been banished from a wizarding world, which I'm guessing is a world for wizards and the like, and you two are magickal people, who run magickal governments and magickal banks?"

   Dumbledore nods, trying to keep Fudge from accusing her of false ignorance, and he gives a small smile. "We also have a magickal school Ms. Rosenberg. I'm surprised that you had not received an owl when you were younger."

   "An owl?"

   "Our form of communication."

   "Oh. Well, I sorta grew up on the Hellmouth."

   His eyes widen slightly. "The Hellmouth? That would certainly explain your absent letter then."

   "Oh this is ridiculous!"

   We both turn our heads and looks at Cornelius, whose eyes are blazing. He points a finger at me and addresses Dumbledore. "Certainly you don't **_believe_** her Dumbledore?! It's impossible!"

   He puckers his lips slightly. "Oh, not at all Cornelius. It is in fact quite probable."

   If possible, Fudge looks even angrier. "Do you mean to tell me, that the witch who tried to destroy the planet wouldn't know of the wizarding world?!"

   A silence falls over us, and I take in a sudden breath of surprise. So that's why. **_That's_** why I've been banished. It all comes down to this. Suddenly it all makes sense. I feel tears rising, remembering the event and the loss that had led me to it. Not wanting the men in front of me to see any show of weakness, I quickly duck my head, trying to keep silent as miniature waterfalls cascade down my cheeks.

   Albus gazes at me in sympathy, but the minister doesn't even notice and just folds his arms, still stubbornly pressing the argument.

   "I'm not going to squander anymore time Dumbledore. She will be going to Azkaban, and she will serve out a sentence there. Hopefully a lengthy one. There is no where else for her to go."

   Dumbledore's attention snaps towards his instantly, and the beginnings of a smile touch his lips. "I'm afraid I have to disagree with you there, Cornelius. There is another place for her."

   "Where?" Fudge scoffs derisively. "The Department of Sanitation? Have her help the wizarding community by magickally cleaning a park?"

   "Have her go clean a park? Oh, dear me, no Cornelius." Dumbledore's eyes twinkle with mischief. "I was thinking more along the lines of her coming to Hogwarts."

************************************************************************************

Dun, dun, dun! (Thunder and lightning in the background) Mwhahahahah! Things are changing, my children of the night. Dumbledore wants Willow to go to Hogwarts? Fudge wants her locked away in Azkaban? What does Willow have to say about all of this, and, more importantly… will it make any difference? 

                                                 **Please Feed The Writer!**

     ----Talk to you soon!


	5. Of Ketchup and War

**Disclaimer:** Own it? **_Me_**? Dude, you are talking to the wrong girl.

**Rating:** Nothing worse than what's in Hp or Btvs. 

**Feedback:** It is my sole reason for writing. (Sigh) Sad, isn't it?

************************************_ShadowElfBard_**************************************

12:14 pm

Gringotts Underground, Vault 409

(**Willow's POV**)

Silence filled the stone chamber.

   Both Cornelius Fancy-Pants and I are staring at Dumbledore with confusion and incredulity etched upon our features. The wise wizard however, just smiles.

   Fudge seems to regain his voice, though he just can't seem to spit out the words. 

   "Sure-surely you, you aren't serious Dumbledore, I mean, you… she… Hogwarts?" he finishes lamely, shock preventing him from forming a complete sentence.

   Dumbledore nods sagely. "Yes Cornelius, Hogwarts. I sincerely believe that it will help her, and that, perhaps, she will help it."

   The minister blinks, his face a mask of pure disbelief. "No. I won't believe it. There's no way that you would be so naïve to even consider the idea that I would actually agree to such a thing."

   Dumbledore raises a single eyebrow in response, still cool and composed. "And why would that be? What makes my request so inconceivable?"

    His eyes bulge in rage. "Do you know who you are talking about?! She is a Dark Witch! A loathsome, deadly, degenerate, abhorrent-"

   "That is quite enough Cornelius," Dumbledore whispers, a trace of anger and warning in his usually calm voice. 

   But the minister is not about to be deterred. "No, it's not. I don't think you're grasping the situation Dumbledore. You are suggesting that this witch be taken to Hogwarts, where she would be exposed to children. **_Children_**, Dumbledore. Children who would be at an obvious risk in her presence."

   "I assure you that Ms. Rosenberg is not a Death Eater, Cornelius. She is not some minion of Voldemort." Fudge flinches at the name while I furrow my brow in confusion. "She is a woman who was misguided and brought to terrible grief over having a loved one killed in her arms. She is emotionally unbalanced, yes, but not deadly."

   Cornelius seems to be bubbling over with frustration. "I cannot let her go, Dumbledore. It is as simple as that. Besides, if she went there she'd be under your supervision. If something went wrong, you'd get blamed and-" he breaks off suddenly, realization and a perverse joy creeping into his eyes. He's instantly a whole different person.

   "Dumbledore, forget what I said before. After a quick deliberation I have decided to grant you your request. Rosen- erm, I mean **_Ms._** Rosenberg, will be taken to Hogwarts. She will not be allowed to leave the island, and she will be in your custody. The Ministry will make periodical inquiries as to how she is being handled and should anything go wrong…" that same demonic elation shines on his face. "Should anything go wrong it might very well mean your job. I do trust that I am being clear?"

   "Of course," Dumbledore responds with a little nod, his face a mask of stone.

    The minister beams at him, and then turns on his heel and begins to stride away, his bodyguards following like ducklings behind him, and he only gives me one small, wary glance over his shoulder before he's gone. 

  The Head Goblin looks up expectantly at Dumbledore. "Will that be all Headmaster?"

   "Yes, thank you."

   The goblin acknowledges these words with a grunt before also leaving, letting the door close softly behind him.

   I gaze slowly up at Dumbledore, and blink. "Um…what just happened here?"

   He gives a long, and heavy sigh. "I'm afraid Ms. Rosenberg, that you have just been assigned your sentence."

   "My WHAT?!" my dinner plate sized eyes scream the shock I'm feeling. "My sentence?! Y-You can't do that," I stutter. "I, I have to be a, a citizen and there has to be a trial, and, and…"

   He gazes at with me sympathy, which only succeeds in striking a spark of anger within me.

   "I know this must be very baffling and shocking for you Ms. Rosenberg, but if you are able to be patient I will explain to you all that I can."

   Though I'm anything **_but_** patient at the moment, and doubt I **_can_** be patient, I give a reluctant nod of acceptance. 

   "Thank you. I suppose that, first of all, you'd like to know the basics hmm?"

   I give another affirmative bob of my head, wishing he could speed it along.

   He seems to sense my impatience and his placid blue eyes almost whisper to be calm. He opens his mouth to speak, and then snaps it shut again, realization on his face. 

   "Oh dear me, I almost forgot where we are. It's not really the sort of place to have a long discussion is it?" 

   He furrows his brow as he gazes around the cell, and mutters under his breath. I catch snatches of, "yes…over there…but by the wall… that ought to do it."

    I watch with curiosity as he draws forth his stick and does a few simple waving motions in seemingly random directions. There's a moderately loud rushing sound, and a small 'pop!' before I'm suddenly seated in a relaxing armchair.

   I gaze with widened eyes and a fly-catching mouth around the now comfortably furnished room, (as it no longer resembles a cell), and have to blink once or twice for it to settle in my mind.  The entire area is an embodiment of relaxation and refinement. There are large and spacious rugs, an elegantly designed chandelier that brings a warm and consoling light, and even a chestnut colored coffee table, upon which is seated a bowl of exotic looking candies and two mugs of hot drink. 

   Dumbledore looses a sigh of contentment and gazes around at his magickal decorating with fondness. "Yes, I believe this is much better."

   He then leans back in his own stylish and inviting seat, and settles with ease. "Now then Ms. Rosenberg, on to my explanation… and undoubtedly, your many questions."

   He grabs a quick little piece of chocolate and ate and swallows it before beginning. I try to ignore the fact that the chocolate resembled a frog, and focus upon him, unknowingly getting comfortable in the fluffy softness of my chair.

   "Now, as you have just learned Ms. Rosenberg, there is another, almost hidden world that we of magickal birth keep hidden from the rest of the world, whom we like to call "muggles". They are completely unaware of our existence-"

   I roll my eyes upward at the predictable statement.

   "-And we like to keep it that way for obvious reasons. We have our own little society, and as you have already seen it has its own economy and government. We are, in essence, a whole other world."

   Unable to stop myself, I cut in. "Yes, I've figured as much, but what about me? I want to know why that pudgy dude freaked out, who you are, what Hogwarts is, why you want me there…"

   He stares at me knowingly. "In other words, you want to know everything, yet you have failed to realize that that is precisely what I was telling you. You must learn to crawl before you walk, Ms. Rosenberg."

   I sag my shoulders in defeat at his logical reasoning.

   He smiles slightly. "Good. Now then, seeing as you have, if I am to understand correctly, spent your life on a Hellmouth, I do not need to go into the long discussion of the existence of magick and sentient creatures other than humans. And, as you already know, there is both good and bad magick." he looks at me pointedly. "As you have undoubtedly discovered on your own."

   I give a timid nod.

   "But, in order for you to understand the minister's rather…harsh and quite belligerent manner, you must first know of its foundation." He sits back slightly. "You see Ms. Rosenberg, my school Hogwarts, and the rest of the wizarding world, will soon be confronted with war."

                                                                      *~*~*~*~*

**_Back In Sunnydale…_**

Buffy Summers, aka the slayer and Chosen One, sighed loudly and pushed away a plate of food that she'd picked at with disinterest for the past fifteen minutes. 

   Anya, who'd been cataloging various Magic Box sales, looked over at her and frowned. 

   "You shouldn't pick at it if you're not going to eat it. That would be wasteful."

   "What else am I going to do with it?" Buffy mumbled. "I'm not hungry."  

    Anya gave her a reproachful look. "You shouldn't squander anything that has potential market value." 

   Buffy looked up and quirked an eyebrow. "'Potential market value'? What are you going to do; sell it to a homeless person?"

   The former vengeance demon's face brightened at the prospect. "That's a wonderful idea."

   She scurried over, grabbed Buffy's plate of untouched food, and hurried out the door. Buffy watched her go for a moment with a disbelieving face, then sighed and shook her head. 

   "Is…is Anya here?" 

   Buffy looked over her shoulder and saw Xander halfway through the hallway door, glancing around nervously.

   "Nope. She's gone to sell my uneaten food to the poor and homeless at outrageous prices."

   "Oh good," he said with relief, coming fully into the room. "She found a new move in the…in the book of you-know-what, and she's been hounding me all day to try it."

   The slayer grinned at her friend's comical situation. "Can't handle the lovin'?"

   He opened his mouth in exaggerated shock. "I hope you're not inferring that I, the prince of lovin', can not handle the sacred art of lovin'hood?"

   She played along. "Of course not O' great prince. But what's the problem?"

   He exhaled slowly and his shoulders sagged. "I'm all 'loved' out that's what. I may be the prince but she's the Queen; one that runs on better batteries than I do."

   Buffy laughed and he grinned and sat in a chair beside her.

   He leaned back a bit in his seat. "Why aren't you eating though, Buff?" 

   "I was going to. I'd been fixing some food to sort of keep my mind off of Willow, cause, you know, you don't have to really think when you're eating."

   "And the flaw in this plan was…?" 

   She stared down at the table with a depressed frown. "The ketchup."

   Xander did a double take. "The **_what_**?"

   "The ketchup. On my meatloaf. It was red. I remembered Willow's red hair." She gave another sigh. "And then the beans."

   "The beans too?"

   "Yep. They were green beans. Willow's eyes are green." She shrugged. "You get the idea."

   He gave her a worried look. "You know, I may not be a psych, Buffy, but seeing your friend in your food doesn't seem healthy."

   "I know. I just can't help it." Tears formed in her eyes. "I miss her, Xander. "

   Xander gave a reassuring smile and squeezed her shoulder gently. "I miss her too Buff. But it'll be okay. She'll come back."

   "Crying about red eh?"

   "Hello Spike," Buffy said sourly, not even turning to watch as the blonde vampire entered the room.

   Spike gave a little smirk as he strutted in. "She's not coming back you know. Not if she's got any sense in that little red head of hers."

   The slayer stood and turned so fast the motion was a blur. She took a step towards Spike threateningly, her fists clenched at her sides.

   "Don't. Say. That," she hissed, her eyes narrowed dangerously.

   Spike shrugged off her anger. "Face it slayer, no one wants to be here. I think she's got the right idea leaving 'Sunnyhell'."

   "Speaking of leaving, Spike," Xander cut in, causing the vamp to turn his way. "Why aren't **_you_** gone yet? There's no reason for you to stay, unless of course you're still hoping someone will stake you. Because I'd be more than happy to oblige."

   Spike curled his lips at him. "Stuff it chubs. You know I'm still her because of the bloody chip. I'm not leaving till I get it out."

   "Then let me have a go at it. I'll get a hammer for the sedative and I'm sure Giles has a rusty steak knife we can use for a scalpel."

   While the two glared at each other, Buffy simply returned to her seat and looked out the window of the shop, wondering, not for the first time, where her friend was and when she'd be back.

                                                                          *~*~*~*~*

12:35pm

Gringotts Underground, Vault 409

**(Willow's POV)**

"'War'?" I repeat skeptically. "From what I've seen it doesn't **_look_** like you're preparing for war."

   "I'm afraid the reason for that is the refusal of the Ministry to acknowledge it," Dumbledore said with a quiet regret. "You must understand that it has been fourteen years since our last major conflict, and we have worked hard to maintain the peace we have now. As a result they are most reluctant to admit that something will threaten our safety."

   I open my mouth, dumbfounded by this new fact. "They're ignoring a war? Can they even **_do_** that?"

   "At the moment it is not open war Ms. Rosenberg, so yes, they are able to 'do' that." 

    He reaches for a jellybean and pops it in his mouth, before his face scrunches up in disgust. I hear him mutter something under his breath about anchovies, before he clears his throat and returns to telling his story.

   "Now, as I was saying before, war is coming. Fourteen years ago there was a dark wizard who started up an army to help him takeover the wizarding world and cleanse it of muggles and those he thought imperfect."

   I raise my eyebrows. "He was a racist?"

   "In a way. He sought to destroy all 'mudbloods'-those who have at least one muggle as a parent. He was defeated in the end, but it was only after the death of many witches and wizards." 

   He pauses as he considers how to phrase his next words, but I've already guessed them.

   "He's not dead. He came back didn't he?"

   He gives a weary sigh and nods. "He did. He has not yet returned to full strength, but he is powerful enough to have already begun calling back his followers. Soon he will attack, in one form or another, but the Ministry will not admit to his return."

   He stares off into space for a moment, regret in his eyes, but then he refocuses and shakes his head slightly.

   "What my point is Ms. Rosenberg, is that your existence is a reminder of dark days. You frighten the Ministry. The true reason you were not sent off to Azkaban the moment after your attempted apocalypse was because the Ministry was too frightened to attempt your capture. They knew you were being sent off to the Coven, and so decided it best to let you be."

   I lean back, taking this all in. "So the reason that guy wigged was because I reminded him of this evil wizard?"

   He nods in confirmation.

   I look at him pointedly. "That still doesn't explain why he thinks I have to abide by his laws."

   "I would have thought that went without explanation. Cornelius thinks you have to abide because you will be hunted down and destroyed if you don't."

   He ignores how the color has drained from my face as he continues on.

   "Now, I'm afraid that unless you'd like to be pursued by Aurors, (those who take down dark wizards and witches) you will have to accept that you are now my charge, and you will have to be brought to Hogwarts. You can choose either way of course; I won't inform the Ministry if you choose to run, but they will find out sooner or later and you will be tracked. They are not idiots."

    I try to sink back in my seat, the world spinning around me.

    I have to make a choice. I can run now, like he said, Giles and the others might be able to protect me… but I'm not ready to face them again. And I certainly can't put them in any more danger. They've done enough for me, too much, as it is. Besides, if I go with Dumbledore to this school he might be able to help me. Maybe I can even get him to explain things more to me. 

   "Ms. Rosenberg?"

   I look up at his patient blue eyes and gulp down the panic I'm feeling. It's now or never.

   "Tell me… tell me more about Hogwarts."

************************************************************************************

YES!!!! I'VE FINALLY FINISHED THE CHAPTER!!! EVEN IF IT IS REALLY SHORT!!! Sorry about that by the way. School has jumped on my back and is beating me down into the ground with a club while taunting me and shoving dirt in my mouth. 

   And that's just on Mondays. 

   So anyway, please review and forgive me for the shortness, lateness, and all around not-up-to-par-ness. My mind is mush right now.

              ------Talk to you soon! (If I can survive school!)


	6. Set in Stone

**Disclaimer:** You know what, I'm sick of this. Just to piss some legal person off, I'm going to say I own it. Hah! Deal with that, you blood sucking lawyers! What are you going to do about it huh? What are you going to… Oh. Eh heh, you know I was just kidding right? (…) Right?

**Rating:** You must be at least this tall to read the fiction. **----------** Thank you, and enjoy the ride!

**Feedback:** I just want to take this moment to thank all of you kindhearted people who were brave enough to take a chance and read a Willow-goes-to-Hogwarts fiction, and even willingly give me reviews. I didn't even have to use coercion, scare tactics, or bribery! And while I still want more reviews-- yes, I'm greedy --I just want to thank you for giving me your thoughts on my fic. 

(Your checks are in the mail)  **;-)**

*************************************_ShadowElfBard_*************************************

8:03 am

Outside Gringotts Bank

(**Willow**)

I blink once or twice as I step out into the dazzling gaze of the morning sun. I take in a deep breath of the fresh, cool air and let it fill my lungs. I then let it back out in a slow and steady stream, allowing my previously tensed muscles to grow relaxed.

   Dumbledore rests a hand upon my shoulder and squeezes it gently, and with a clenching heart I'm reminded of Giles. 

   The wizard isn't all that bad really, and in many ways he is like Giles. He's English, knowledgeable, and kind. I can't say that I fully trust him yet, and I might not ever trust him. I'm beginning to think that trust is nothing more than a weapon to be used against you. You trust someone to be there for you, to love and take care of you, and then they're gone. And all that is left is an empty shell; a husk full of memories.

    After a very long talk that almost went into the morning, I was explained the basics of this world more thoroughly. Nothing worth mentioning really. After the discussion Dumbledore 'poofed' away the chairs and magickally brought in some beds to sleep on. I thought it was really nice that the Headmaster chose to stay with me through the night in the furnished cell, and not go home to his own house to sleep, though it might have more to do with him not being able to let me stay more than five leagues away from him or a supervisor. (And for those of you who weren't nerds in high school, that means fifteen miles). But it was a fine gesture all the same.

   Then this morning, he'd woken me up, handed me a platter of eggs, (I don't know from where), and told me that he had to return to Hogwarts to get some things settled before the start of the next school term, and that a trusted friend of his would be coming to pick me up, take me shopping, and then drop me off at a substitute supervisor's home. 

   I'd suddenly felt like an unwanted present.

   But the wizard had done nothing but shown me patience and kindness, so I'd put on my best-faked smile, and eaten my eggs in an accommodating silence.

    So now I'm standing outside on the pearly white steps of Gringotts, warm speckles of sunlight dancing on my cheeks, wondering about who is going to come pick me up, and if they know who it is they're going to be watching over. I hope that they're like Dumbledore; I don't think I can meet another 'fudge' person and not go all 'vainy-Willow'.

   I clutch my bag, (which Dumbledore was able to get back for me from the goblins), tighter in my hands, still extremely nervous, when I hear Dumbledore sigh in relief beside me.

   He begins walking down the steps, his hands clasped out in front, and he stops when he reaches the middle of the cobbled sidewalk. 

   For a moment I wonder what he's doing, but then I see that from the hustling crowd of wizards and witches who are walking speedily up and down the pathway, a figure is coming towards us. Dumbledore has his back turned towards me, and obscures my vision of the person he's meeting, but he then turns slightly to gesture up towards me, and I can easily recognize the man he'd talking to. I don't think I could ever forget him.

   It's Hagrid from the bar!

   The giant of a man is in front of me in three long striding steps. He puts his hands on his hips and furrows his eyebrows at me in study, before widening his eyes in recognition.

   He swivels back around. "**_This_** is the witch yeh wrote me 'bout, Headmaster?"

   "Yes Hagrid, this is Ms. Rosenberg. Is there something wrong with the arrangement?"

   "Oh, no, it's fine sir it's just…" he glances back at me briefly. "It's just that I don't really see her as the type, yeh know?"

   Dumbledore nods in understanding. "I see, Reubus. But as I'm sure you'll find out, Ms. Rosenberg is not an evil or dark witch at all. Now though, I'm afraid I must be off. The money I gave you will be enough I hope?"

   "Yes sir, I got plenty fer the supplies she'll be needin'." He gives Albus a small smile. "I don't suppose yeh'd be willin' ter tell me what it is that she'll be doin' at Hogwarts?" 

    Dumbledore eyes light up with a mischievous twinkle and he winks. "Now where would be the fun in that?" he gives Hagrid and I a polite nod. "Goodbye, Hagrid and Ms. Rosenberg. I will see you at the start of the school year."

   And then, quicker than the eye can blink, he's gone.

   I look up at Hagrid, and Hagrid looks down at me. We're both thinking the same things probably. The only difference is he's wondering what I'm doing in this mess, and I'm wondering how I got into it. 

   We stare at each other a few moments longer, before he sighs and breaks the silence.

   "Look Willow, I don't know how yeh can be what Dumbledore told me the Ministry believes yeh ter be, an' I don't really know why yeh got ter do all of this shopping around like a first year, but Dumbledore gave me his orders, an' I'm not about ter let him down. You understand what I'm trying to tell yeh?"

   I nod softly. "Yep. You want to know if I'm going to go all 'grr!' on you for doing your job. Don't worry though, I don't like this situation either and I'm still not sure I understand it, but I'm not going to shoot the messenger. Not that I'd actually shoot you, and I know you're technically not a messenger, but you get the idea." 

   He grunts. "Right. Well the good thing is that Dumbledore's provided the money fer this little shopping trip, so you'll not have to worry 'bout that."

   I furrow my brows. "He gave me money to go shopping?  But if I'd just exchanged my American money for…for whatever it is you people use as currency, I'd probably have enough."

   "Dumbledore has his reasons Willow. He probably felt that yeh shouldn't have ter pay fer somethin' yeh didn't want ter do in the first place." he looses a gargantuan sigh and stretches briefly. "Now, are yeh ready?"

    And with a timid but positive reply, we start down the pathway.

                                                                *~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Ollivanders? What does he sell?"

   Hagrid scratches the back of his head at my query, wondering best how to phrase it. 

   "He uh… he sells wands actually."

    I raise an eyebrow. "Wands? As in, pointy-sticks-that-do-magick, wands?"

   "Err…yeah."

   "Oh. And I need one of these because…?"

    He throws his hands up in the air in exasperation. "Look, I know yer supposed to be some… some 'wandless witch' or what not, but every wizard-- or witch --that's ever lived and practiced at least half decent magick has had a wand. They help focus a person's power."

   I sigh. "Okay." 

   I enter the shop-- Hagrid said he'd wait outside --and look around with a curiosity that manages to subdue my initial trepidation. The store, from what I can see of it, remarkably resembles an old bookshop. It is dimly and yet warmly lit, and has an air of antiquity. The room seems covered in a thin veil of dust and age, and reminds me of the Magic Box. 

   I approach the counter (the only polished surface in sight) and look around expectantly for a clerk of some kind. 

   "Hello."

   I jump at the unexpected voice, and whirl around to find an older man standing behind me, his strange moon-like eyes sparkling and staring intently.

   I simply gape, unable to speak.

   Luckily, the guy does all the talking for me. 

   "So, I take it you're here for a wand, yes? Well you've come to the right place my dear, Ollivanders have been the makers of fine wands since 382 B.C. and we are, if I may say so myself, the best at what we do." 

   He studies me for a moment, and I see a sly, half-hidden smile on his lips, as he murmurs softly, almost too softly for me to hear, "this will be an difficult one, yes… but it will no doubt be interesting…"

   Is it just me, or was a draft let into the room?

   I clear my throat nervously. "Look sir, I don't really know what type of stick--" his eyes flare wide, "err, I mean wand, I need to get, and--"

   He shakes a finger at me. "The wand picks its owner my dear, not the other way around."

    "Okay," I say slowly, this guy's strange behavior throwing me off. "Well, then I don't know how to go about letting a uh, letting a wand 'choose' me."

   He smiles slowly. "That's where I come in." 

**_Six minutes later and four wands later…_**

   "Willow…flexible…nine inches…unicorn hair…" Ollivander says, out of breath as he passes me my fifth test wand.

    I take it reluctantly, and silently wonder how it is that a guy Ollivander's age is able to run as well as he can. When my fourth wave of a wand had sent that orb zooming around the room, I never thought that he'd be able to catch it before it broke something. Learn something new everyday I guess. 

   So far this "choosing" business had been going horribly. I feel like a fool, I've destroyed two different vases, and I once set Mr. Ollivander's robes on fire. It's like the wands can sense what a bad witch I am, and don't want to come anywhere near me. I swear that they're conspiring… 

   Suppressing a sigh, I apprehensively pick up the wand, and give it a wave when…

   BOOM!!!

   Silence.

   Ollivander blinks. "You… you blew up my wand."

   I look sheepishly down at the snapped wood I now hold in my hand. Oops.

   "I… I'm sorry…" I struggle to apologize, still shocked from the sudden explosion. Not knowing what else to do and feeling uncomfortable, I numbly hand him the half of the wand that remains. The other half is now in dust form and is probably floating in the air.

   He takes the ruined stick gently in his hands and whimpers softly.

   I bite my lip. "Are you uh, are you going to be um, o-okay?"

   He squeaks out an "Mmhmm," that is supposed to be reassuring but sounds far from it. "I… I'll be right…right back…"

   And then, with tears forming in his eyes, the wizard flees through a door in the back of the shop and slams it shut behind him. 

   I wince at the sound, and then clutch my forehead and feel the sudden need to bash in my skull with a very large and heavy stick.

   My shoulders sagging as I stand in a slump, I wearily and disinterestedly glance around, when I notice that there's another room. Curious, I walk back into what seems like a storage area (probably for the wands). There are tons upon tons of neat little boxes stacked upon each other and on the sides of each one is a description of the type of wand being stored.

   And that's when I feel it.

   My head, almost of its own volition, snaps towards the end of the aisle I'm in. I can feel something pulsating, something powerful, and an overwhelming need comes over me that I'm unable to suppress. Driven by an unknown force I stride quickly to the end of the passage, completely oblivious to the thousands of boxes on the shelves beside me. 

   I reach the end and then turn left, following a path deeper into the back of the shop, and I notice that the light is getting dimmer and the dust on the boxes is growing steadily thicker. I am entering a section that has not been browsed through for some time. 

   My heart pounding wildly and excitedly in my chest, I kick up the speed of my pace, my eyes going wide with anticipation. I'm nearing it; I can feel it. I'm almost… almost…. almo…al…

   I'm there.

   Breathing deeply in and out, I stare fixatedly at the source of the pull that had brought me here. It's an uninteresting brown parcel, shoebox in size, and the only thing that draws my attention is the writing on the side that clearly says: Test Wand. I look around me and notice that the other boxes in this area all have similar writing. Weird.

   "Ms. Rosenberg? What are you doing… no one is supposed to be back here…" Ollivander questions softly, apparently back from weeping over his destroyed merchandise. He's staring at me in utter confusion, though I see a hint of curiosity in his eyes. 

   I hold up the Test Wand box for him to see. "What is this?"

   His eyebrows practically jump in surprise at seeing me with the package, and it takes him a moment to answer. "That is a container with a Test Wand inside. Now why are you back her--"

    "What's a Test Wand?"

   He frowns at my interruption but doesn't comment. "Every few years or so a witch or wizard tries to create a wand out of a new material. They send their prototypes here to be tested and possibly sold. The ones that don't work-- all of them --are stored back here until I can find the time to send them back. Wands just can't be made out of anything but wood."

   I look down at the brown box, coldly analyzing it, and feel my fingers twitch as though they want to tear off the lid. Ollivander seems to notice this, and clears his throat.

   "Why don't you just… just give that to me, and we can get on to finding you a proper wand. You obviously need something a bit stronger than willow, how about an oak wand? They're very--"

   "Enough," I command with a voice not my own, as I raise my hand to ward off his meaningless prattle. "I want to try this wand."

   "But that's just a Test Wan--"

   My head is up in a flash and I glare at him with a fiery passion.

   "I will try this wand," I hiss, "and you will not speak until I have done so."

   He does as he's told, my deadly tone clearly leaving no room for arguments.

   I look down at the item in my hands once more and then with a tender touch I smoothly take off the lid and let it fall to the floor. My breath catches in my throat as I gaze upon the wand. Never before have I seen a more beautiful tool. 

   A slight smile on my lips, I take it out, and hold it in the light, gently turning it in my fingers as I study its features, ignoring the wide stare I'm receiving from Ollivander.

   The wand is heavy, and I can tell immediately that it's made of stone. It's cool to the touch, but I can almost feel a thread of fire within it, a burning passion to channel the flames of wild magick. It's a shimmering white with patches of ebony black, and there's thin thread of silver in every borderline between the two colors. I'm in awe of it, and the witch inside of me is hungry for it; ravenous for the extra control and power it offers.

   "Give it a wave."

   As though stepping out a daze I bring my gaze up to Ollivander, and I almost take a step back at the eager fervor in his eyes. He's trembling from excitement.

   "Give it a wave," he repeats, his hands motioning encouragingly.

   I pause for a moment, suddenly hesitant as to whether or not I should, before an ancient calling throws away all concern. I raise the wand, and flick my wrist in a sharp and confident gesture. 

   My breath pours out from my lips in a long, releasing sigh. Ecstasy and pleasure surrounds me in a blissful cloud of radiance. And for the first time since Tara's death, even if this sensation is only temporary, I feel… Whole. Bonded. Complete. 

   "My word…" Ollivander whispers behind me, amazement and a strange joy in his voice. "Who would have guessed…?"

   My lids half closed and a smile on my face, I tilt my head at him in an almost sleepy amusement. "What's this wand made of?" 

   "It's a type of marble, eleven and a quarter inches long, sturdy, magickal center of…" he squints at it briefly. "…Of sphinx feather if I'm not mistaken." 

   My eyes grow wide in astonishment. "Sphinx? There are sphinxes?"

   He gives a little nod, more focused on the wand than on me. "Not usually a potent enough magick to be added in wands, but it seems to fit you."

   He clears his throat and brings his gaze away from the stone tool reluctantly, meeting my eyes. "Now then, despite this rather… rather curious turn of events, I believe I have yet to be paid."

   I quirk an eyebrow.

                                                               *~*~*~*~*~*~*

"So yeh got yer wand then eh?"

   I nod silently, looking at the ground as we walk down the path. 

   "An' what'd yeh have to pay fer it?" Hagrid asks.

   I tell him the price softly, not really paying attention as my mind is on my new wand, and he gasps.

   "Ten Galleons?! Ollivander mus' be off his rocker! I ain't never heard of a wand bein' **_that_** much …"

   I simply shrug, still not focused. Hagrid finally notices how quiet I am, and stares at me in study. It doesn't take a hacker to know that something's troubling me. 

   "Somethin' wrong then Willow? Yer bein' pretty quiet."

   His words bring me out of my daze and I shake my head before giving him a forced smile. "I'm fine Hagrid, thanks. So, where are we going next?"

   He raises a single eyebrow at my attempt to change the subject, but then sighs and fumbles in his pocket before pulling out a small folded piece of paper.

   He takes a look at it. "We'll be headin' to Flourish and Blotts. Seems there's a few books Dumbledore wants yeh ter pick up before I drop yeh off."

   I purse my lips slightly. "Hagrid?"

   "Yeah?"

   "Where is it that you're dropping me off? Who is it that's going to be watching over me?"

   He scratches the back of his head. "A friend of mine actually. Friend of Dumbledore's too. Got a nice family, he does. Yeh'll be all right."

   I look up at him doubtfully, but don't press it further. Besides, I don't have a choice in the matter. No use for me to get all worried and stuff, 'cause there's nothing I can do about it.

   I sigh, and shove my hands in my pockets.

   I hope he's nice.

                                                                *~*~*~*~*~*~*

I hug the books I've bought from Flourish and Blotts close to my chest, my mind still reeling with excitement and joy. That was the coolest bookstore I've ever been in. The Magic Box has **_nothing_** on this place. The magick books they have in there… the sheer amount of them… it's overwhelming. It's also a little addictive. 

   I had to get some books that Hagrid had scoffed at, saying they were for first years, (whatever those are) and though I kind of thought they were childish I did see the reason in getting them. Dumbledore wants me to learn how to do the spells I know with a wand, not just my hands. So even though I may have to re-learn some of the basics, I think it was a smart choice. I also got some weirder books… things on the dark arts and protection against them. I'm not holding those books right now though. I don't trust myself. 

    I've apparated for the first time. Well, okay, **_I _**didn't apparate; Hagrid did. But I was there for the ride! It was strange how he did the magick with his umbrella though. I would have thought he'd have used a wand. I tried to ask him about it but he was very stubborn. He had a resolve face on and everything.

   "So… this is the place?" I ask timidly, my voice tinged with uncertainty.

   Hagrid nods. "The cottage may look small, but it'll be just fine. You best go knock. I doubt that they'll open the door if you don't." he winks at me.

   I shoot him a playfully reproachful look, and then knock hesitantly on the wooden door. I hear noises in the house, like people hurrying around, and someone yelling. But a few moments later the door is opened by a pleasant looking man with bright, scarlet red hair. 

   He looks at me in surprise at first, but then sees Hagrid and he smiles in recognition. "Oh, hello there. You must be the one Dumbledore wrote me about. Ms. Rosenberg is it?" 

   I nod.

   "Ah, good, good…" he pauses, unsure of what to say next. "Um, oh! Right then." He sticks out his hand. "My name is Arthur. Arthur Weasley." 

************************************************************************************

I finished the next chapter! Yay me! I hope you guys are enjoying this fiction, (if there's anyone even **_out_** there), and I'll be sitting on the edge of my seat as I'll desperately await your feedback. So… Hope you liked it, and please review!!!

------Talk to you soon!


	7. Willow and the Weasley's

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*************************************_ShadowElfBard_*************************************

5:49 pm

Weasley Residence

(**Willow**)

   "The kids are out shopping at the moment-- besides little Ginny that is, she already has her school stuff and is spending the night at a friends house-- so you can pretty much make yourself at home. Molly's already set up a little room for you, and I can take your bags if you'd like…"

   I hardly even hear him as he speaks, so immersed am I in the wonders I see around me. 

   I've been around magick, (no duh) and of course I've practiced it, but never before have I been in a magickal home. Everything around me seems enchanted or charmed in some way, and all of the practical uses that this family has gleaned from magick are astounding. And confusing. When I was getting too deep into magick, the Scooby gang had practically banned me from it, worrying that I might do something extreme. (Which I ended up doing anyway, but that's not the point) But this family is not evil at all, and yet they're virtually engulfed in the magick. It's very, very confusing.

   As is my reason for being here actually. When Mr. Dumbledore had told me that Hagrid would be dropping me off at another supervisor's home, I'd immediately thought that it would be a single man; someone isolated and, come to think of it, old. Mr. Weasley is none of these. Apparently he has quite a few sons, and a daughter. He's also only about thirty-five or so. In other words, he's not at all what I was expecting. 

    "Willow?"

   Shaking my head slightly and refocusing my eyes, I notice that Arthur's staring at me. 

    "Sorry," I apologize, "did you ask me something?"

    "Yes, actually. I was wondering whether or not you'd feel comfortable eating dinner downstairs with my family and I tonight. If not, then I'm sure we can zap a table upstairs in your room." 

    Eat downstairs with them? "I don't really have any problem eating down here, if you'll have me that is…"

   He nods. "It'll be fine. After all, you are our guest for the time being." He then gives a small smile. "I'm sure you're about ready to unpack eh?"

   I shake my head in an affirmative nod. "Yeah. Hagrid and I actually bought some, err… some more witch-like robes and such, and I have my own clothes to unpack."

    "I understand." He turns and points at the stairway. "Your room is upstairs and to the left, two doors down on the right hand side. It's already been prepared, and you can fill the chests and closets with whatever you'd like."

   "Thank-you." I shift the weight of my bag, and then start climbing the steps. 

                                                            *~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Nice digs," I murmur to myself as my gaze travels around the room. It looks as though a lot of preparation has gone into fixing up this space, and compared to the other decorating throughout the house (which is nice, don't get me wrong) it seems like the bedroom of a rich noble. 

   I somehow feel undeserving.

   But with a frown I lay my bag upon the bed, and after opening it begin pulling out articles of clothing that I find places for in the dresser or the closet. As I do so I realize with rue that I haven't brought enough of my own clothing-- barely five outfits-- for this unexpected "prolonging" of my stay here in England, and unless I want to do laundry every three days and wear robes most of the time, I'll have to stock up. Wow. Who would have ever guessed that there would come a day when "Willow-the Wallflower" would have to worry about clothing? Were Xander here I'd never live it down.

    Oops. 

   Thinking of Xander brings a sudden pain of longing to my heart. I miss them so much, though I still think that leaving was the right idea. But ever since I've been gone from them nothing seems stable anymore. I can't even judge my own feelings. I'm no longer the babbling brook of optimism that I was in high school, but neither am I the depressed and suffering wraith that had been my image for the past month. I'm… I'm somewhere in between. And yet, I'm also nowhere near either of them. It's all very confusing, and for the moment I've given up on trying to figure it out. 

    I sit upon the bed, my unpacking done and my bag in the corner of the room, and I stare out an open window. It's going to be a nice day, I think. The sun's bright and the only clouds in the sky are puffy and white. No rain. 

    As I continue to stare outside, I twirl something in my hands. Startled, I glance down, and see that I've pulled out my wand from its hiding place. When did I take it out? Hmm…

    My eyebrows knotted in curious and concentrated thought, I study the tool with a scrutinizing eye. It's such a simple looking thing, nothing really special about it. But I still feel so drawn towards it, and so attached. It is stunning in my eyes; its pure coloring of white and black, and the thin silver rivulet that runs between the two colors, giving the wand a cracked appearance that enchants me. 

    I realize that my heart is pounding furiously now, as I become almost lost in its design. I don't even realize that I'm raising my hand, about to perform a spell.

    "Can I come in?"

    Arthur's surprising voice severs the momentary hold that the wand held over me. I put it in my pocket before I answer.

   "Sure," I say, after swallowing back saliva. "Come on in."  

    He opens the door and enters, and then smiles slowly. "Do you like the room? I know it's modest, but we really don't have--"

    "No, no, it's fine," I assure him hurriedly. "It's really wonderful actually. You put a lot of work into it."    

   He gazes around. "Oh you can thank my wife for that one. I'm afraid I'm rather lost when it comes to decorating."

   He clears his throat. "But, what I actually came up here for is to ask you if you'd like to come down. Molly and the kids have just returned from shopping, and I'm sure they'd like to meet you."

    My eyes flare wide. "Do they know…?"

    "It's all right. Molly knows of course, but all the children have been told is that you're visiting Dumbledore under special orders and you'll be staying here until the start of the school term." He raises an eyebrow at me. "I rather not involve them in all of this, you understand."

   I nod. "I get it. Why I'm even here is a mystery to me. I don't think I should be this… this close to kids, you know?"

   He gives a knowing look. "I know perfectly. The very same thought ran through my mind when Dumbledore apparated by and asked for my consent. But, I trust Albus, and if he thinks that you aren't a danger to my family then you are not a danger to my family."

    I'm speechless. That everyone trusts and respects Dumbledore this much… Wow. 

   Arthur seems to understand and he nods towards the door. "Are you ready?"

    "Uh, sure. Yeah, okay."

     I follow him out of my bedroom and as we head downstairs I can hear the chatter below growing louder and clearer. 

   "--But you said that as long as we experimented in our room then we could continue, mum."

    "Yes George, but that was before I awoke in the morning to the smell of stink bugs."

   "Stink **_weed_**, mum, not stink bugs. Me'n George got it at a real low price from a hag near Zonko's. We're using it to create our new Mini-stinks."

    " Fred, I swear that-- wait. Mini-**_what's_**?"

    "Mini-stinks. They're pill sized stink bombs that activate the moment the planter says a password that they've chosen. Wonderful thing is that you don't need to be near it for it to work. You can be in Hogsmeade when you say it, and miles away your Potions teacher will be choking on the stench of one that you've planted on his desk."

    "Wicked! Can I get one to use on Snape, Fred?"

    "Oh now don't you start, Ron!"

    "But mum!"

     When I reach the bottom step they all hush and turn. There are five of them in all, four boys and a clearly stressed but pleasant looking woman. Three of the boys are related, as it is easy to tell from their matching freckles and scarlet hair, and two of them are identical twins. The other boy is obviously not a blood relation, with his pale skin and messy black hair, and he's standing near the boy without a twin. 

    "Boys, " Arthur says in greeting. "This is Willow Rosenberg."

    The boys gape at me with open mouths, and one of the twins gives an appreciative whistle. It is quickly silenced by an elbow jab from his mother, but I still fight down a blush all the same.

    "Enough of that," the woman scolds. She looks at me and gives a friendly, but still wary smile. "Hello, I'm Molly. These are my sons, Fred and George," (the twins) "Ron," (the almost gangly looking fifteen year-old) "and this," she gestures towards the almost shy looking teen with black hair, "is Harry Potter."

    "Hello," I greet them with a warm smile.

    For a moment, all they can do is stare at me. Every one of them, Mrs. Weasley included, looks positively shocked.

    "What is it?" I ask in confusion.

    Harry stutters a bit. "You've… you've never heard of me?"

   "You don't know who he is?" Ron adds, his eyes large and round.

    I give them a bemused look. "Am I supposed to?"

    Almost immediately, Harry is shaking his head 'no', and I can see a huge grin on his face and a twinkle in his eye. "No, no you're not. I'm nobody, nobody at all." he then murmurs gleefully, still grinning, "she doesn't know me…" 

   Did I miss something?

   "Well now," Molly says, positively flustered, "why don't I go zap us up dinner? I know my children are hungry, and I'm sure that what you've been going through today has brought up an appetite. So Arthur, if you'll just come help me in the kitchen…"

     Mr. Weasley furrows his brow in bafflement, then catches his wife's look and pieces it together. "Oh! Right. I'll come help."

    The two of them leave the room, and I stare at the boys, while they stare right back at me. We shift our weight nervously, and gaze around uncomfortably.

   "Oh bloody hell!" The twin, George, yells, throwing his hands into the air. "We're acting like first years, for cripes sake!"

   Fred gives a dramatic sigh. "As usual, my brilliant counterpart, you are correct. We must find something to occupy our guest and ourselves to get over this uncharacteristic silence. Any ideas, Ronniekinns?"

    "Ronniekinns" flushes red to his ears at the obviously humiliating nickname, but doesn't' comment. "Well, besides that miniature Quidditch set, and Wizard's chess…"

    My ears prick up. "What's Wizard's chess?"

    All four of them stare in amazement, before Fred gives a slow smile. "I think we've just found something to do."

                                                       *~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Checkmate."

   "What?" I look at the configuration and then let my jaw drop in disbelief as I realize that I've lost again. "Hey! How did you…?"

   The boy called Harry laughs. "I ask him that every time I lose too."

    "Well I am a Wizard's Chess champion," Ron says smiling, resetting the little pieces on the board. They try to run away at first, but become immobilized once they're placed in their starting square.

    This game is so cool. We didn't really have time to get into it before Mrs. Weasley had dinner prepared (it seems that magick helps really speeds things along when cooking) but we took the game to Fred and George's bedroom and started playing right after eating. I already love this game to death. I've always liked chess, but watching the little pieces knock each other around and insult one another makes the game twenty times more entertaining. I'll have to try and find the formula for the enchantment…. No, wait. I can't. I have to stop forgetting that I'm trying to give up magick, not go plunging back into it head first.

    Sigh.

    "I still can't believe you've never played," Fred says from the corner of the room, stirring a potion as his twin brother jots down notes on the effects of the ingredients in the mixture.

    I simply shrug. "They don't have them in America. At least, not in Sunnydale."

    He shakes his head in an exaggerated motion of regret. "Ah, you poor deprived girl. Next you'll be telling me that you've never drunk a butterbeer."

    I let out a nervous laugh, trying not to meet his gaze. "Uh, yeah… right."

    They all raise an eyebrow at me, and I clear my throat. "Um, why don't you play Ron next, Harry? I'm sort of tired."

    And I am. Mrs. Weasley's warm and very filling food in my belly, plus the new encounters and surprises I've gone through today, have made me dead tired. I'll be lucky if I can reach the bedroom door before I start snoring. That, and I want a little time to read a chapter or two in my new books.

   If their shocked faces are any indication, however, it seems that the boys are wide-awake.

   "Sleep?" George says in surprise and loathing. "But it's not even seven-thirty!"

    I give a half-hearted grin. "Yeah, but it doesn't feel that way to my drained body. Besides, you don't want me passing out on your floor, do you?"

    He winks suggestively. "I wouldn't say that…"

    I gape at him in surprise and amusement. "You're only sixteen!" 

    He shrugs, a playful grin on his face. "That may be so, but many have said that I hold wisdom beyond my years."

    His brother, Fred, rolls his eyes. "Hold wisdom eh? You best go looking for it then, because I fear you've misplaced it…" 

    I shake my head softly in amusement and rise to my feet. "As flattered as I am, I'm going off to bed. See you in the morning."

   In almost disappointed voices, they all wish me good night, and I'm not more than two feet out of the room when I hear one of the boys say, almost thoughtfully, "I like her… she seems nice."

   I have to stop the tears from springing to my eyes.

************************************************************************************

**Review Returns:**

   Xenocide: Sorry, no Buff pairing. =(  Thanks for the posting suggestion, I've been trying to get it into the section for a while already, but just figured out where it was three days ago. It should appear there now though! =) 

   Xann: Thank you! I'm really enjoying writing it!

   Sigma1: Yeah, I do that a lot when reviewing too. I'm reading so many fics that I keep forgetting which ones to check up on. And, yes, I'm glad you've noticed that I am trying as much as physically possible to stray away from the more… the more random Willow@Hogwarts fictions. Thanks for your support!

~*~*

So, yeah, I'm still chugging along, (though not very speedily I'm afraid) but I'm still here. Yep, dependable. That's me. So, anywhoo, I'll try and get my next chapter posted sooner, so just hang on a little longer!

    -----Talk to you soon!


	8. Unexpected Recognition

**Disclaimer:** Bleedin' hell! How many times do I have to tell this soddin' site? I don't own it okay?! Now get off my case, you bloody pansies!

**Rating:** Do I really have to say it?

**Feedback:** Not even ambrosia is as delicious.

*************************************_ShadowElfBard_*************************************

**_One week and four days later…_**

9:06am 

Weasley Residence

(**Willow**)

"I'll see you again though, won't I?" Ginny asks me, her eyes filled with hope.

   I smile at her and can't help but tousle her strawberry colored hair. "Course so, kiddo. I'm not just gonna just go disappear on you."

   She gives me a strong little grin in return, one last hug, and then stands back with her brothers and Harry. I met Ginny the day after I first arrived at the Weasley residence and I have to say that I was taken aback at how much she reminds me of… well, me. She seems just like I did when I was younger. Not only in appearance mind you. She's also confused and alone, and just the slightest bit mousy. But there's a light in her eyes, a confidence buried within her that's just waiting to be dug up. It's the same confidence that I discovered after meeting Buffy and helping her fight evil. It's the same confidence that Tara was able to brighten and strengthen. Ginny will find someone, a friend or companion that will bring it out of her; I have no doubt about that. She's a really sweet girl and I got to know her really well.

   She's just one more person that I'm going to miss.

   After staying with this wizarding family, and being… being accepted as a part of their group, I've come to love this place. I don't want to go to Hogwarts, even though I know I have to (literally). I want to stay here, with them. With the twins and their good humor, with Harry and Ron's kindness, and with Ginny's admiration for me.

   It's going to be hard, I can already tell, but I've survived worse. Besides, maybe whatever Dumbledore will have me doing at Hogwarts will let me see them again. They will be going to school there, after all. It's very possible.

   And so, with one last "good-bye" to the Weasley family, I climb onto the back of Hagrid's motorbike, and we go speeding away in the air to Hogwarts.

                                                                   *~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Wow. This is… this is amazing."

    In response to my stunned statement, Hagrid gives a hearty laugh. "That it is, Ms. Rosenberg. Never quite get used ter it meself, actually."

    I look up again at the large stone castle, feeling slightly foolish for just standing here on the front lawn, but mostly marveling at the sense of mystery and beauty that it gives off. It's huge, enormously so, and I can't help but wonder how many secret passages and stairwells it has. How many rooms does this fortress contain? And is it a fortress? Are these high walls meant to keep out invaders and protect the students inside?

    He seems to read my mind. "This is all just grandeur yeh know. The real stuff keeping Hogwarts safe is the stuff yeh can't see. Enchantments and what not."

   " But… do you, do you mean that Hogwarts **_has_** to be protected?" He quirks an eyebrow and I hurriedly try to specify. "I mean is there something that would try to attack the students?"

   "Oh, that." He strokes his beard in a nervous manner. "Well, yeh know, at a magickal school yeh can't help but be exposed to some baddies an' such. Not that we're attacked regularly, yeh understand, but sometimes things just… err… well…"

   "It's okay Hagrid," I say, smiling and patting his arm reassuringly. "Mr. Dumbledore told me all about the 'Big Bad'"

   "The what?"

   "The dark wizard dude. The racist guy? The ambitious wannabe with the oversized ego?"

   "Oh." He tilts his head. "So Dumbledore's told yeh 'bout He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

   Now it's my turn to look confused. "Who?"

   "The… that dark wizard yeh were just talkin' 'bout. No one really likes ter say his name so we, we sorta gave him that title, yeh see."

   I nod my head in understanding, and we stand in silence.

    "Um… Hagrid?"

   "Yeah?"

   "Shouldn't we go **_inside_** the building?"

    "Yeah, but yer see, **_they'll_** be coming **_out_** to bring us in. Security's been a little zealous since last year. New dangers an' what not." 

    "So how long do you think we'll have to wait?"

     "Not long at all."

    We both turn in the direction of the voice and notice that an old woman, not seriously old but definitely up there in years, stands in front of the door in full robe and hat, her hands clutched formally out in front.

    Hagrid nods his head respectively. "Good evenin' Professor McGonagall."

   She returns the gesture with a small grin upon her weathered face. "Good evening Hagrid." She looks towards me. "Are you the Ms. Rosenberg we've been hearing so much about?"

    "I guess so," I return with a confused little smile. "You're a professor here?"

   "Yes. I teach transfigurations. I'm also the head of Gryffendor house."

   "The head of what?"

   She gives me a patient look. "Our school is divided into houses. For each house, there is a professor who heads it."

   "Oh. Okay, that makes sense. Will I be sorted into a house?"

   "It's really only for students, I'm afraid. But, don't worry, all will undoubtedly be explained to you inside. Follow me please."

    I shrug and pick up my large duffel bag, filled to the brim with my wardrobe books and other items, and start to go after her through the doors before I realize that Hagrid isn't following. I stop and turn back around to see him walking off towards his bike.

    "Hagrid? Aren't you coming with me?"

    He shakes his head. " 'Fraid not. I got other errands to run yeh know. I'm quite busy 'fore school starts."

    "Will you come back though?" I ask a little worriedly, not wanting to be handed off again.

    "Aye. I'll be back by the start of the term, don't yeh worry." He winks at me. "Yeh best follow Ms. McGonagall now. Wouldn't want ter get her angry."

    I beam at him, though painfully, and then force myself to turn away and follow the professor inside what will undoubtedly be a very pretty prison.

                                                                  *~*~*~*~*~*~*

And a pretty prison it is indeed.

   The walls are decorated tastefully with draperies and pictures (some of which actually move and talk!) and the numerous statues and other adornments are attractively placed. Were it not for the lack of flowers and decoupage, I would have guessed that Martha Stewarts was the decorator. 

   As it is, though the antique beauty of this place astounds me, I cannot help but experience a sense of suffocation, as though the walls are preparing to move in and crush me. It's really not a warm and fuzzy feeling. 

   "So where are we going?" I inquire, trying to bring my mind off of my claustrophobia. 

   "To the Headmaster's office," the professor replies. "He's actually briefing most of the staff on your arrival as we speak."

   "Briefing them? Am I really that big a deal?"

   Professor McGonagall looks back and gives me a weak smile. "Do try to calm down, Ms. Rosenberg. It won't be all that bad."

   I'm about to point out that she hasn't answered my question, when she stops in front of a statue and whispers something into its stone ear. A few moments later, and a spiraling staircase is in the statue's place. The professor begins climbing the steps, and I lift my suitcases up higher and follow.

   When we reach the top, I hear voices reverberating off of the stone walls, voices heated and passionate and belonging to people who are most certainly debating something. Probably me.

   "-- **_when_** she's coming, but you haven't told us **_what_** she'll be doing," a woman says.

   Even though it's an echo, I can easily recognize Dumbledore's voice as he responds. "Now, now, Professor Sprout. All will be revealed in due time. Besides, I'm sure that our guest would like to be present when I announce how she'll be spending her time here."

   "You guest?" a man's clearly disdainful voice says scornfully. "Hardly the term **_I'd_** use Dumbledore."

   "Like it or not Severus, she is our guest, and I will not tolerate her being treated as anything but."

   I smile slightly at how Dumbledore is sticking up for me, and then feel a surge of panic when I realize that this might hurt his reputation. What if by choosing to help me, he's put himself in trouble? What if his colleagues abandon or turn against him? I couldn't take it if this man were to be harmed in any way because of me.

   Professor McGonagall nods at the door when we reach the top of the stairs, and after a steadying breath I enter. 

   The six people (one of whom, if I'm not mistaken, is a ghost) in the room, with the exception of Dumbledore, all look towards me from their chairs the moment I come in. They all wear wizard's robes, and all seem to be professors of some kind and in their mid thirties or forties. One or two gaze upon me with suspicion (especially one unsettling man with greasy black hair), but most have warm and welcoming smiles on their faces. Whether these smiles are genuine or forced, however, I'm unable to tell.

   "Ah, you've arrived just in time, Ms. Rosenberg," Dumbledore says jovially, standing up and coming round his desk. "How is Arthur doing, by the way?  Is his family well?"

   I try to ignore some of the stares I'm receiving and clear my throat before I answer him. "Um… yeah. He's doing fine. He's a really nice guy."

   The wizened wizard nods. "He is at that. Now, these are a few of our professors and staff. Sadly most are still preparing for the readily approaching start of school, but you shall meet them in due time."

    He gestured towards the group. "Professor Sprout teaches Herbology, Professor Flitwick heads Charms, Filch is our caretaker, Professor Snape is our resident Potions master, Professor Binns teaches History, and Madame Pomfrey is a Healer and school nurse. Our Divination professor would be here as well, but I'm afraid she's running late…"

   Ah, well at least now I have some names to the faces. The two who regard me with distrust and dislike are the ones named Snape and Filch. All the others seem open minded about me and are still smiling pleasantly, except for Professor Binns who I think has fallen asleep in his chair. I didn't know that ghosts **_could_** fall asleep. Neat.

   "Um, mister Dumbledore, sir?" I ask a little nervously, shuffling my feet. "I don't mean to be impatient or anything but… well, I don't know what I'll be doing here, or if I'll be doing anything, and I'm really eager to find out, and I was wondering if… you could, you know, tell me, cause it would help clear some stuff up and…"

   He holds up a hand to stop my chatter, a bemused expression on his face. "It's quite all right Ms. Rosenberg. I think now is the perfect time to get this matter out of the way." He gestures towards two chairs that seem to have appeared suddenly, and both Professor McGonagall and I sit down.

   "Considering your sketchy background as an apprentice in the magickal arts, I'd first considered attempting to enroll you as a student. That idea was thrown away, of course, when I realized that not only would you face social hazards that could very well trigger an emotional relapse, but you do not seem to fit in well with any structured knowledge level we have here either. So, next I'd thought of letting you try and teach."

   He gives a chuckle. "Obviously that would be a most foolish move on my part, and so that notion was also disposed of. After all, though you do know much about magick, you know hardly anything about the type we teach here, and, once again, though you do hold a large amount of my faith, your stability **_is_** a danger. Not to mention the fact that I'm rather sure Cornelius would not approve. And so, this is what I've decided."

   He looks at me with a compassionate warmth in his smile, and happiness in his eyes. "Ms. Rosenberg, I believe it best that you be an assistant teacher in Defense Against the Dark Arts."

   There are a series of gasps following this statement, and though Professor Mcgonagall's is not among them, her eyes have widened quite a bit. The ghost no longer looks bored, Professor Flitwick and Sprout are exchanging nervous looks, Filch's mouth is nearly off its hinges, and Snape seems to be biting his tongue to hold back a protest. And by the looks of it, I'd say he's biting pretty damn hard.

   I, as usual, have no idea what Dumbledore has just said.

   "Defense Against the Dark Arts?" I ask skeptically, a little panic settling in. "Is that a class? And if it is, then why do you think I'd be up to teaching it? I'm nearly-destroyed-the-world girl, remember? I haven't really done a bang up job on defending against dark magick, Goddess, I've been **_practicing_** it."

   He gently lays a hand upon my shoulder, calming me with his grandfatherly touch. "Please Ms. Rosenberg, I know you have been though a lot as of late and I do not wish to add to that. But try to understand; no matter how much you fear using it again, magick is a part of you. To ignore that would have disastrous effects."

   His words soothe me slightly, and I look into his calm blue eyes as he continues.

   "You were raised upon a Hellmouth, and you have touched the evil that permeates from it more times than anyone should ever have to. For a short while, you were even a part of it. Who better to help teach others how to deal with the darkness? And by aiding in the education of others, you yourself will be taught. I will not push you into this, but I do feel that it is the right choice to make."

   I gaze up at him, and bite my lip, jumbled thoughts and emotions fighting for control. However, amidst the confusion, I reach a decision.

   "I'll do it," I whisper, a small smile on my lips.

   He beams at this, and nods his head in acknowledgment. "Thank you, Ms. Rosenberg."

   "You're welcome. Who will I be assist--"

   I'm interrupted as a thin witch wrapped in loose robes and a shawl, wearing dozens of beads and other baubles that click and clack with every step she takes, flings open the door dramatically and enters.

   "So sorry dears," she says lightly, resettling that shawl that was halfway down her shoulder. "My Inner Eye showed that I'd be late, and though I tried all I could to prevent it one just can't change fate."

   Ignoring the displeased glares given to her by most of the professors, she settles her large gleaming eyes upon my stunned face. "Ah, I see that I was once again correct in my predictions. You look just as I'd imagined you would."

   Dumbledore gives a patient smile. "Ms. Rosenberg, this is our Divinations Professor--"

   "Aunt Trelawney?!"

   The Divinations professor blinks, and then squints at me before her eyes fly wide. "W-Willow?"

   Over on the left, a very shocked McGonagall mutters, "Merlin help us… they know each other."

************************************************************************************

**Review Returns:**

Eth: I'm glad you're enjoying it, and of course I'll add more. Wouldn't want any angry reviewers breathing down my neck. *wink*

RainySunshine: She will be paired with someone, but it won't be the main focus of the story. It won't be any of the HP characters either, sorry. Oh, and I know what you mean about pairings with Snape…. There's just something **_wrong _**about it…

Luana: Thanks for your amusing review, and I had no idea that my author's notes were witty… huh. Learn something new everyday I guess. Who's Shylock?

WW: Thanks and I will.

Faith5321: Glad you liked it!

C-Theory: Rest assured, there will be no Lucius or Snape pairing whatsoever. Hope to get reviews from you in the future!

Fate's Child: Whoa. Thank you for your very detailed and wonderful review—it made me blush. I can only hope that I'll continue to live up to your standards.

Amber Of Heart: Thanks!!

Purest Evil: There will be a pairing, (though it will come later on), and I'm pleased that you're enjoying this. Cool penname, by the way.

~~~~~

Hey! I'm still here! I'm late and the chapter's a bit short, but I'm still here! I hope that my being behind schedule hasn't scared you all away. Please review! Even if it's to complain about the length and how long it took me to post, I need to know that you haven't abandoned me! But, on a less desperate note, I hope you enjoyed the chapter (despite its flaws) and I'll try and get my next one up as soon as possible.

      -----Talk to you soon!


	9. A Puzzling Reflection

**Disclaimer:** Poor and lowly fanfic writer am I, not the mighty forces that are J.K Rowling and Joss Whedon.

**Rating:** It depends upon your point of view.

**Feedback:** If I haven't gotten the point across already, I desperately LOVE and NEED feedback. (A little money wouldn't hurt either, but I'll take what I can get.)

**************************************_ShadowElfBard_************************************

5:16 pm

Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office

**(Willow)**

Dumbledore looks from the divinations professor to me, his eyebrows up in surprise. "Do you two know each other?"

   I nod once, still shocked at this unexpected recognition. "She's my father's older sister. There's… there's a picture of her hanging on the wall in our hallway, actually. I met her when I was seven."

   Trelawney gives a small and nervous smile. "Yes, I remember. I'd come down to ask your father for…erm…financial aid, and though I'd ended up going back to England without a pound more, I had stayed for a week. You were quite the shy one. You stayed in your room nearly the entire time I was there."

   "Well I was always sort of wary of strangers… you can't really blame me. Besides, I **_was_** seven at the time." I furrow my brow. "How did you become a professor here?"

    "News of my abilities with the Sight, dear." My aunt looks rather proud for a moment before she catches a withering glare from one of the professors.

   "Oh! You mean you get visions and stuff." I pause for a moment. "Wait, if you're a witch, and you're my aunt, does that mean that my dad is a witch? Well, I mean, not a witch, but a wizard? Cause I know that this sort of thing travels through bloodlines and so wouldn't he have magical abilities too? And if he does, why didn't he ever tell me? And why would he have moved to the Hellmouth? Does the wizarding community even know about the Hellmouth? Or is it like one of those places your kind doesn't go? Because there aren't many real witches or wizards there, though once or twice we've had people like Amy's mom or Ethan Raynes or Rack show up… then again, I'm not really sure that Rack counts because he sort of just sucked magickal energy out of people and--"

   "Will you bloody well shut up?!" Snape shouts, his eyes aflame. "You babble like a brook!"

   Stung, I lower my eyes to the floor.

   "Severus," Dumbledore hisses in a tone alight with disappointment and anger. "You'd do well to watch your tongue around my guests in the future. You are readily developing a most unpleasant habit of speaking before you think, and it is wearing thin on my patience."

   Adequately cowed, Snape reluctantly drops his gaze, though he purses his lips with anger. "I am sorry Headmaster," he apologizes softly and with an obvious effort.

   Calmed down a bit, Dumbledore gives a slow nod. "Thank you Severus, but it is not I that you should be apologizing to."

   Snape brings his head up and his eyes grow wide in indignation before quickly narrowing again. With a clenching of his jaw he turns slowly towards me and gives a small bow, trying hard not to make the mocking attitude of the gesture apparent to Dumbledore. "Forgive me, Ms. Rosenberg," he grounds out in forced pleasantry. "I apo…apolo…" he seems to choke on the word. "… I **_apologize_** for my rude behavior."

   With an almost invisible smirk and a slightly haughty air, I bob my head in graceful acknowledgement. "You're forgiven." _Grouchy pants._

His glare, loud and clear, tells me that he's pissed. I ignore him though, and turn back to my aunt. She's still really flustered, and nervously glancing from me to Dumbledore, an unspoken question in her wide blue-green eyes.

   "Ms. Rosenberg?" The Headmaster interjects into the tension-filled silence quietly, "do you have any further questions about your job that you need answered immediately?"

   "Huh? Oh, no."

   "Then perhaps you should unpack in your new room." He gestures towards my aunt. "Professor Trelawney, I'm sure you two have quite a bit of catching up to do, so why don't you lead her there? She'll be staying in the third guestroom in the left wing."

   Trelawney looks as though she is about to protest, but then swallows and gives a shaky smile. "Very well, Headmaster."

   She looks over at me patiently, and I give a small grin. "Lead the way, aunt Trelawney."

                                                                  *~*~*~*~*~*~*

   "So," I say lightly, trying to start conversation. "Have you been, er, predicting long?"

   I'm sitting on my new bed right now, in my new room, and Trelawney is standing off by the wall, nervously playing with her beads and avoiding my gaze. The room isn't bad at all, and though it is a little plain and motel-ish, I think it will be all right once I make a few changes. Add in a few personal items. I'm not really focusing on the decorating of the room right now though; I'm far more interested in the fact that the only person I know on my father's side is a witch like me.

   "Quite some time," she says softly, still not meeting my gaze. "The headmaster hired me around fourteen years ago, my dear. I'd really only been using The Sight for a year before that."

   "Oh. Cool."

   I mentally groan as we once again revert to glancing about the room in silence. I never was good at social scenes of any kind. My past is coming back to haunt me, I just know it…

   "I know this is going to sound awfully sordid of me, dear, but are you… are you the one who tried to destroy the world?"

    I look up at my aunt, and I struggle to understand the look in her eyes. I realize that the silence is stretching a bit too far though, and so I give up. 

   "Yep." I try to sound cheery and light, but the closest I can come is a strangled whisper.  "That's me all right. I'm the mournful lover who attempted to fulfill the goal of a satanic cult and burn the planet to a crisp. Why do you ask?"

   Suddenly, my aunt does the most unexpected thing she can do. 

   She starts bawling her eyes out.

   "Au-Aunt Trelawney?" I ask in a worried tone, my eyes wide and fearful. "Are you… are you okay?"

   "Ohhh!" she moans with a sob, her beads clattering as she shakes her head. "I'm a fraud! I'm a fake, I'm a, a, a… a no-good squib!"

    "Er, really?" I have no clue at what her last self-insult means, but focus more on her first words. "Why do you say that? You uh, you seem fine to me."

   She grabs a handkerchief (seemingly from nowhere) and blows her nose into it, then sniffles and says, "You don't have to pretend. I know that the others have already warned you about me. They probably all told you my story before you ever saw me." She starts to cry again. "They probably told you all about how I hardly ever predict things that come true, and, and how I couldn't even foresee that my only niece would try to destroy the world!"

   "Aunt Trelawney, I haven't heard any stories about you," I try to convince her, hearing her quiet down a little at my words. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

   She glances up at me, her eyes puffy and red. "Y-You don't? Really?"

   "Nope."

   "…"

   "Would you like me to forget that this little… er…'outburst', ever happened?"

   "That would be quite lovely, dear."

   "Okay."

                                                                  *~*~*~*~*~*~*

It's been an hour since my aunt left, probably going to freshen up and then have dinner, and I've just finished unpacking. I've hung what few clothes and robes I have in the wardrobe, brought out my few books and after categorizing them by subject, content, and the author's last name, lined them up on my small desk, and taken out my other little knick knacks (jewelry, photos, necessities and my laptop) and put them in their own places. And after gazing over my decorating skills, I'd have to say that the place looks nice. Not homey-- not yet-- but definitely nicer than before.

   Bored out of my mind, I'm actually considering trying on one of my new robes and seeing how I look in it. (Cordelia would probably die laughing if she heard that.) I've just never worn an actual robe before, and the ones that I'd bought are actually very pretty. I am going to have to wear them all year long, right? Shouldn't I see how I fit in it? See what the "new" Willow is going to look like? 

   Boredom, I've just decided, is a very dangerous thing.

   But with a mental 'what the heck', and a shrug of my shoulders, I still make my way over to the closet. After scanning over a few of the robes (I only have five) I pick out the one that caught my eye from the beginning and slip it on.

   The color is an almost forest green with Celtic designs around the collar in a dark velvety red. It hugs close to my body but has long, almost draping sleeves, and all in all it's actually very comfortable. Curious as to how I'll look in it, I move to stand in front of the full-length mirror.

   When I see myself for the first time in nearly two weeks, I can barely keep from gasping out loud. The first thing that I register is that I've lost weight-- and not in the good way either. I'd already had a very high metabolism (lucky me) and as I look back upon this week I realize that I've hardly been eating. I'm sure that the stress and depression haven't helped me keep a steady figure either.

   The second thing I notice is that I look older somehow, though I really can't find any wrinkles of age lines. Maybe it's in my eyes, or how my mouth is in a steady, serious line, or perhaps it's the way I hold myself. I can't tell what it is, but I do look aged and weathered, and I realize rather grimly that it fits how I feel.

   The only good thing that I get out of this mirror is that the robe fits well, and that it matches my eyes. Yippee.

   Sighing I turn away from my reflection before catching sight of something in the glass. Immediately I spin towards the doorway, and hear an audible squeak of terror from the creature standing there. It's little, green, and has bulbous globe-like eyes and long batty ears. The being stumbles backwards from my room, frightened and surprised at being caught, and wrings its hands in fear as I move towards it slowly.

   "B-b-begging your pardon, Miss, Dobby didn't want to interrupt, he just couldn't **_help_** himself, Dobby is so sorry, so sorry, he--"

   "Whoa!" I interrupt him, holding my hands up non-threateningly. "It's okay, really. I was just surprised. You're not in trouble."

    The little creature bursts into tears at this. "Oh, thank you, thank you! Dobby is lucky indeed to have met such a merciful witch!"

   "Er… you're welcome." I raise and eyebrow, and then, unable to help myself, ask him "what are you, exactly?"

   "Hm? Oh, I'm Dobby, Miss. Dobby the house-elf."

   "A house-elf?" I start moving back into my room, and at his nervous gaze I nod, telling him it's all right to come in. He follows me in as he answers my question.

   "Yes, Miss. We house-elves are servants… and slaves. We serve a family or person until we die or are given clothing, Miss. Many of us are treated like vermin, but not Dobby! Not anymore! Dobby lives in the castle now, and works with the other house-elves in the kitchen. Dobby is thankful that the Great Dumbledore allows Dobby to stay here; he is most kind."

   I sit upon my bed in shock. Slaves? Until they **_die_**?

   "That's awful," I whisper.

   He nods solemnly. "For many of us, it is. Very few house-elves are lucky enough to have kind people like mister Dumbledore look after them. Dobby used to be a slave for a very dreadful family. They would do the most awful things to Dobby…" he shudders.

   There's a pause of complete silence. Then, a question I'd had comes back to me.

   "Dobby, what exactly were you doing spying on me?"

   The house-elf's eyes become the size of dinner plates. "Spying on you, Miss? Never spying, never spying. Dobby was… Dobby was investigating, Miss. We'd all heard tell that the Scarlet Witch was coming. Dobby was curious and came to look for himself, but never spied, on you. Never spied."

   " 'Scarlet Witch'?"

   He bobs his head. "Yes, Miss. The one who had almost brought the world to flames. Every elf felt it," he shivered briefly. "It was so cold, Miss. So full of sorrow…"

   I struggle and manage to push down the lump in my throat. Did I really cause everyone to feel my pain? Was I ever that powerful, that full of anguish? Yes. Yes, I was. That's why I'm here. Remember? That's why I can't return to my friends in Sunnydale, and why my reflection looks so unfamiliar.

   "Dobby," I whisper, "I think I'd like to be alone for awhile. Do you think you could…?"

   He seems to understand, and solemnly bows his head. "Dobby could, Miss. Dobby could."

   I listen as Dobby leaves my room and closes the door behind him, before I return to staring at the unfathomable depths of the mirror in front of me, wondering…

    _Who am I now? _

************************************************************************************

**Review Returns:**

**Spearsister:** LoL, you're right about putting Snape in his place, but I don't think that Willow will be getting with Snape in this little fiction of mine. Then again, you never know, because these characters always have a way of changing my plans…

**Charmedfanatic3000:** thank you thank you thank you thank you! *chuckle*

**Imp17:** Thank you very much for your review, and I hope I keep you interested.

**Sellser:** I'm glad you liked it! Thanks for the review!

**Starfury:** I will!!

**Susan:** Don't fret, Willow will be meeting the Dark Lord himself soon enough. Thanx for your review!

**Moonbunny77:** Evil? Thanx! Evil guys get all the good lines… 

**WhiteWolf 3: **Yeah, I liked that quote too. *returns grin*

**FunkyWitchOnFire:** Cool penname! And your review made me blush. I hope that my fiction continues to meet your standards!

**Captain Chameleon:** Is there a history behind your penname? Oh, and I'm happy that I was able to surprise you with the twist!

**Sigma1:** And your reviews are wonderful as always! Thanks, Sigma!


	10. Bloody Hell

**Disclaimer:** Own it? What nightmare are **_you_** living in?

**Rating:** PG-13

**!!!Author's Note!!!: I'm going to be making up a first name for one of the professors in here, but if that character really has a different name then please tell me what it is. Thanks!**

**!!!Author's Other Note!!!: Sooooooooooo (etc) sorry about how long it took me to update. I'm really, REALLY bad about that sort of thing, and I know that it probably pissed a few people off. So, again, I apologize, but I'm still here.**

**Feedback:** If I could, I'd make a virus that would force your computer to stay at my story until you gave me feedback of some kind, but I'm not that mean a person and I don't want to end up in jail, so I'll just do it the old-fashioned way and beg.

*************************************_ShadowElfBard_*************************************

Three Days Later

8:49 pm

Undeterminable Location

(**Willow**)

In the twisted words of Paul Revere, "The students are coming, the students are coming!"

   Yes, they'll be arriving tomorrow. And I'll have to attempt to try and help teach them. Bleh. Teaching a subject that I know I shouldn't even be **_near_**, and only as an assistant. I still don't even know whom I'll be assisting, because when I met the professors, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher wasn't there. I'm still not sure whether or not that was a good thing…

   Speaking of teachers, though, I have been able to get to know them a bit better. Well, okay, not all of them. I haven't seen Severe Snake (Severus Snape) since I've come, or Filch-- not that I'm complaining. But I did get to spend some more time with the other professors, and Madame Sprout and I have become fairly good friends. She was showing me this plant yesterday that, as a defensive mechanism, can actually copy the shape of the thing closest to it. I watched as it turned into a stone, a teapot, and me! A very tiny me with roots, but me nonetheless.

   "Miss Rosenberg! A moment, please!"

   I turn around, and see Professor Flitwick running down the hallway. I patiently wait, and he stops in front of me, huffing and puffing like he's just run a marathon. I guess that when you perform magick all the time, you forget to work out a little.

    "I…Dumbledore asked me to…. he wants…" the Charms professor takes in a large gulp of air. "The Headmaster wishes to see you."

   "Oh. Okay, I guess. Where is his office, again?"

   Flitwick turns and points down the hallway with a shaky finger. "That way…go down until…you see…the gargoyle and then…then say the password…"

   I raise an eyebrow. "What's the password?"

   He breathes deeply, pauses, and then says, "Lemon Drop."

   "Lemon Drop?"

   "Lemon Drop," he reiterates with a nod.

    I grin in amusement. "Okay. Thanks, Professor."

   "Please," he says smoothly, finally able to breathe normally again, "we are both professors here now. You can call me Winthrop."

   Giving him a smile, I start off down the corridor before turning around to yell back, "Thanks again!"

   Winthrop takes off his hat and bows. "Think nothing of it."

                                                         *~*~*~*~*~*~*

_   Boy, this guy sure loves candy, _I think, climbing the stairs to Dumbledore's chambers. I mean, really. Lemon Drop? What kind of a password **_is_** that, anyways? It sounds like something that Xander would have come up with. 

   I reach the door to the office and knock tentatively. Receiving no answer, I knock again, and then hear a faintly muffled, "come in!"

   With slight amazement I take in the décor of the Headmaster's room and office, feeling very much like a kid in a candy store. There are shelves lined with books, strange and enchanted knick-knacks and statues, portraits of people who I can only assume are his ancestors, and one of the most astonishing things of all, a bird.

   I approach the animal slowly with my eyes full wonder and curiosity, and the magnificent creature tilts its head and gives a soft 'Coo?' of question. Its feathers are a beautifully shimmering red, and its eyes are bright and intelligent. I raise my hand shakily, wanting for some weird and wonderful reason to pet it, and the bird lowers its head and closes its eyes, giving me permission to do so. Once my fingers touch the soft, downy feathers, my mouth breaks out in a wide and almost goofy grin. I stroke its head slowly and gently, before hearing a low, "ahem", from my left.

   I smile apologetically and draw my hand away. "I'm sorry, Headmaster. Was I not supposed to…?"

   "Oh no!" he says quickly, his face open and kind. "By all means, please pet him. I'm afraid Fawkes does not get the true attention that he deserves from me, for my duties here at Hogwarts often keep me occupied."

   I smile in thanks and continue to stroke Fawkes, as he's apparently called, but with Dumbledore here I can't hold back my curiosity for much longer. I give the bird a sad look, and pull my arm away to go and sit in front of the Headmaster.

   "So… why'd you want to talk to me?"

   "Ah, yes," he says, with a nod, pulling away from a book he'd been skimming through. He grabs a bowl off of his desk. "To business, then. Candied leaf?"

   "Uh, no… thanks," I say a bit slowly, watching as he take hold of leaf-shaped candy pieces and chews on them thoughtfully. He swallows.

   "To be blatant, Miss Rosenberg, I was wondering how prepared you are for the arrival of the students tomorrow."

   "I'm as prepared as I'm going to be, I suppose. I've been doing some reading on the subject, I've taken down as many notes as I could, and I've talked with a few of the other professors about it." I shrug. "The only thing that I haven't done is discussed the lesson plan with the teacher who'll be heading the class."

   He furrows his brow. "Why haven't you?"

   "Well, I still don't know who the person **_is_**," I point out.

   I watch as the realization dawns on him. "That's true, isn't it? I'd forgotten… Old age does that to a person, unfortunately."

   "So…" I shift uncomfortably. "Who will I be assisting?"

   He seems to brood on something for a moment, and then gives an impish smile. "You know, I've always loved surprises. Do you, Miss Rosenberg?"

   "Yeah, I guess."

   "When I was younger-- **_much_** younger-- my parents were quite the sneaky pair. I never knew what I was to receive for my birthday. I remember one year, I'd been **_certain_** that they were going to get me a new broom." He chuckles. "I received a bag of enchanted marbles." Then he frowns. "Sadly, I lost them years ago…"

   I blink, completely dumbfounded. Since when were we talking about marbles?

   "Mr. Dumbledore, please, what does this have to do with the professor I'll be assisting?"

   My question receives a warm smile, and he answers quite simply, "I'm going to keep the professor's identity a secret. In fact, come to think of it, I haven't even told the person who is going to be the professor. Hmm."

   I gape in shock. "B-But what about a lesson plan? And, and a schedule? How will we know what to do? We'll probably mess up and then we'll both get laughed at, and the students will hate us, and everything will fall apart, and I'll be deported and sent to Azkaban, and my friends will never see me again, and I'll get old behind bars, and the food will be crappy, and…"

  The headmaster watches in astonishment as I go from cool and collected to having a panic attack in less than five seconds flat.

   "Miss Rosenberg. Miss Rosenberg. Miss Rosenberg!"

   " … Come to my funeral, and-- huh?" I break off in my fear-induced monologue and refocus my eyes. "Oh. I did it again, didn't I?"

   He smiles reassuringly at me (though this time it seems slightly forced) and shakes his head. "Miss Rosenberg, I understand that you are frightened about what is to happen…"

   _No I'm not! _I think hotly. _I'm frightened because an old man won't tell me anything about what I'm going to do tomorrow, because apparently he likes surprises._

   "…But it will be alright. You are a very capable woman, and I have the utmost faith in your abilities."

   "All right," I say with a sigh, not reassured in the slightest but wanting to humor him.

   He smiles again, and then we both stand and shake hands, saying our goodbyes. I turn and walk to the door, only to pause as something catches my eye. It's an old black hat that's hunched over on a shelf.

   Suddenly, that hat straightens. "Hello there."

   I give a little squeak of terror and jump back. "What are you?!"

   Behind me, Dumbledore laughs softly. "Miss Rosenberg, allow me to introduce you to our Sorting Hat."

   The hat bows. "Hello."

   My eyes wide, I take a tentative step closer, and squint to study it. 

   "Wow," I murmur.

   The hat gives a little chuckle. "I always was the 'top hat' with the ladies."

   Dumbledore sends the hat a playfully scolding look at the bad joke, but I just can't help but giggle.

   Abruptly, there's the high-pitched sound of a whistle, and then a burst of fire appears in the fireplace. The flames, surprisingly enough, take the shape of McGonagall's head.

    "Headmaster," she says calmly, "we seem to be having a bit of trouble in the Great Hall with the decorations. They aren't cooperating and one of the streamers has attempted to strangle professor Flitwick. We would certainly appreciate it if you could come and give us a hand or two."

   Dumbledore nods his head. "I'll be there in a moment, Minerva."

   The face in the fire smiles in acknowledgment, and then disappears.

   The Headmaster faces me. "It seems that I have something to take care of in the Great Hall. Would you mind waiting here until I return?"

   "Sure, no problem," I say in fake cheer. "Take your time."

   After he's left, I sigh and plop down into a comfy chair next to one of the bookcases. The hat looks at me for a moment, and then frowns.

   "I don't remember Sorting **_you_** before."

   "That's 'cause you didn't," I say wearily, my eyes closed.

   "Well I should do it now then, shouldn't I? If you'd like, of course."

   My head snaps up to look at him in surprise. "You could Sort me? Into one of the houses? Right now?"

   "Of course," the hat answers a bit sharply, bristling, insulted.

   "Oh." I blink, pondering the decision. "Would it hurt?"

   He chuckles in amusement at my concern. "No, no, there's nothing to worry about at all. Well then? Want to find out?"

   I bite my lip, and then give a nod. "Okay. What do I have to do?"

   "Just place me atop your head. That's where all the information is, after all."

   And so, following the hat's orders, I pick him up and then slowly set him down on my head, feeling foolish as I wait for something to happen.

_  " _My, my, what **_do_** we have here_?"_

I give a start in surprise at the voice in my head, but then calm down when I realize that it's the hat. And the most interesting feeling is going through me…. like, like someone is sifting through files, only the files are my thoughts and memories. It is a tingly, light feeling, but it's also violating and encroaching.

   _You…  you can hear me?_

"Loud and clear," the hat replies. "Hmm…. Such memories… you've got quite a past here, girl… No, wait, my mistake…. You aren't a girl anymore, are you? No, no, not anymore…"

   I can almost hear **_his_** thoughts as he looks through my mind, privy to all of my secrets and successes, my fears and dreams. My sorrows.

   "Now then, where to put you? You've a ready mind of course, clever and sharp… Ravenclaw would most assuredly suit you well, yes… But one can't overlook that determination, that drive… You could certainly be a Slytherin, yes… the potential is there… And of course there's that courage inside, beating within your heart. There's that need to do what is right and be brave in times of dire need… Gryffendor would fit on you like a warm glove, there's no doubt about that… To be frank, you could fit just about anywhere… but what to choose, what to choose…"

   I bite my lip again, and my knee bounces with nervousness and anticipation. I know that I'm not going to be actually **_entering_** any of these houses, and that this is merely to satisfy my admirable but dangerous curiosity, but still… This feels so big, so large, and so so**_ necessary_**.

   Then, interrupting my thoughts, the hat begins to talk to me again. "The decision has been tough, but I think you belong in HUFFLEPUFF!"

   I wince. "Do you have to yell?"

   "Sorry," the hat apologizes. "Force of habit."

   I take off the hat carefully, and set him back on the shelf, once again chewing on my poor lip. I'm about to ask him a question, when Dumbledore re-enters the room.

   "Hello again, headmaster," I greet him.

   He inclines his head. "Miss Rosenberg. I apologize for that, but everything has been squared away. Now, before I take my leave, was there anything else you wanted to ask me?"

   "Actually, yes. What house were you Sorted into when you were younger?"

   Dumbledore blinks in surprise. "You know, no one has ever asked me that before… But, to answer your question, it was Gryffendor."

   "Oh."

   He squints at me. "Why? Did you…" he glances up at the hat, and, after noticing that it's now on a different shelf (oops!), he smiles. "Our Sorting Hat was good enough to Sort you while I was gone, I presume."

   I grow a bit red. "Yeah."

   The corners of his mouth widen into an even larger grin. "Well then, don't keep my guessing. Where did our esteemed Sorter place you?"

   "Hufflepuff."

   "Really?" He tilts his head and furrows his brow, pursing his lips. "Strange."

   My eyes widen in alarm. "What? What's strange? Is that a bad thing? What do these houses **_stand_** for, anyways?"

   "Each one," Dumbledore begins softly, choosing to answer my last question, "stands for certain… attributes, I suppose you could call them. Characteristics. Gryffendor is bravery, Ravenclaw is intelligence, and Slytherin is determination."

   "What's Hufflepuff?" I ask warily.

   "Loyalty," he answers simply. "Acceptance. Justice."__

And even after I bid him farewell and go back to my room, that last word had rings through my mind.

   _Justice._

                                                              *~*~*~*~*~*~*

The Start of the Semester

6:21 pm

The Great Hall

**(Willow)**

I let out a long and heavy breath, gazing around nervously. The students are starting to file in, and I'm in front of all of them, seated with all of the professors, being treated **_like_** a professor… Wow. I can officially say that this is one of the most nerve-racking experiences of my life.

   Dumbledore seems so happy right now, his face alight as he watches the students coming in, some younger, some older, some sweating and some laughing. It's as though every pupil that shuffles in is an extra piece of chocolate on a golden plate. I don't think I've ever seen him so thrilled.

   Snape is unconcerned and scowling, as usual, and most of the other professors (There is a new one among them, a middle aged witch who might possibly be the professor that I'll be assisting) also seem to be taking this rather indifferently. They're not much different than the teachers in America, really. Another year, another set of students, another set of troubles.

   The said students all seem to have taken their seats, and professor McGonagall has quieted them down and informed them that the Sorting will soon begin.

   The hat (placed on a stool in the front) then opens its mouth and begins to sing, taking the first years (and myself) by surprise. He sings of the four great Houses, and, comically, of himself, and then wishes them all good luck and tells them to "… have no fear, but think real loud so I can hear". He quiets and applause overtakes the Great Hall, before professor McGonagall once again takes charge and holds up a long scroll.

   "Abenkoff, Harold."

   And so the Sorting begins.

   The first years all jam the hat on their heads, some with eagerness and others with a tentativeness that I can easily relate to. One of the things that I do notice, however, is that not a single Slytherin twitches when putting on the hat. They all sit down with an almost haughty air, and get back up with a smirk. Show-offs.

   Finally, the last person, a Zebadia, Joseph (poor guy) goes up and after the hat proclaims him a "RAVENCLAW!" the Sorting is over. The houses all greet their new members with good cheer (except for the Slytherins, who merely nod in acknowledgement) and then Dumbledore comes stands and the hall goes silent with an anticipatory hush.

   "Good evening students, new and old, and welcome to another fine year at Hogwarts," he pauses briefly and waits until the applause dissipates before starting again. "Before you gorge yourselves on the marvelous feast that is about to begin, I have a few words for you all, of the more serious nature."

   He winks at his audience. "That's two years in a row now, I do believe that this is a new record."

   The older members of the crowd, who know what he's talking about, give small chuckles.

   "But, as I was saying, I have some words. The first, I'm sorry to say, is a banning on student visits to Hogsmeade this year."

   There is quite a reaction at this, and quite a few students stand up angrily and with shock, while others cry out in dismay and protest. Once again, I have absolutely NO clue whatsoever as to what's going on.

   Dumbledore holds up his hands and attempts to calm them. "I know, I know, and I truly am sorry. This simply is one of the rare occurrences where it is out of my control. The ministry is merely attempting to keep you safe."

   On my left, Snape rolls his eyes.

   "It is their belief that you would be better protected on school grounds, and in that regard I have to admit that I do agree with them."

   The students sit back down, albeit reluctantly, and grumble quietly with folded arms.

   The Headmaster looks over them all, and, satisfied that he can continue, does so. 

   "Now, as to my second choice of words, I have good news for all of you. I am pleased to announce that Miss Willow Rosenberg, a very capable witch from America, has come to serve as an aide in the Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Miss Rosenberg, if you would stand up please?"

   I stand, fighting down a blush, and nod my head in greeting towards the students. It is hard to judge their reaction, but for the most part they seem merely surprised and curious. Whether it is at the fact that I'm young and American, or simply new, I am unable to tell.  I receive a dappled array of applause (with a particularly loud burst of enthusiasm from the Weasley's and Harry) and return to my seat.

   "Thank you, Miss Rosenberg. And now, in addition, we have another new professor this year, Professor Glinda." 

   The middle-aged witch I spotted from before stands up eagerly and waves. She receives the same unenthusiastic applause from the grumbling students, and then sits down.

   Dumbledore smiles. "Professor Glinda will be heading Potions this year."

   The room goes silent with a stillness that not even the dead could compare to.

   The Headmaster's smile widens, and a mischievous glint shines in his eyes. "And so we come to our last announcement, which I'm sure many of you have already guessed. This year, it is my immense pleasure to announce that the Defense Against the Dark Arts class will be headed by none other than our own Professor Severus Snape."

   At first, Snape looks as though he's been told that Christmas has come early and that he'll be receiving eleven months off-- with pay. Then he seems to remember that **_I _**am to be assisting the DADA professor, and he looks over at me in horror.

   As Spike would put it, "Bloody Hell." 

* * *

**Review Returns:**

**eth:** *chuckle* Yeah, I know… sorry. Hope this cheers you up a bit!

**Davina:** I'm glad you enjoy it, and thanks for the review!

**Destiny's Dragon (Amber of Heart):** I like the new name. It's got a nice rhythm to it. Anywho, thanks for the review!

**Darklight:** Don't get her mixed up in the Wizarding War? Hrm… Well, I can try, but there are no guarantees I'm afraid. Thanks for the review, I'm glad you like it!

**spearsister:** Well, like I've mentioned before, the relationship isn't going to be a big part of the story, but it WILL be with a cool guy. At least, I think he's cool. You might not think so, however, but thousands of fan girls say otherwise.

* * *

In any case, I truly am so sorry to all of you for taking so long to update, and if none of you review because you're mad at me, I'll understand. *gives audience sad puppy dog look* Ah, well. I'll just have to hope….

            ------Talk to you soon! (I'll really try this time, I promise.)


	11. Sepratorum Sex

**Disclaimer: **Most of the time I can't even get the facts straight-- how the hell could I own it?

**Rating:** Go talk to some Parental Advisory Board, please. I'm tired.

**Feedback:** Some people collect rocks, others seashells, and still others postage stamps. I collect little electronic commentaries that come from people all over the world. So, please, add to a girl's diminishing collection. Thanks, and enjoy the chapter!

**To Recap (Why? Because I have to.): Willow, still feeling that she's too dangerous to be around her friends, hopped the first flight to England, wanting to isolate herself once again. Accidentally, however, she ends up riding the Knight Bus and entering the Wizarding World. She gets herself locked up beneath Gringotts, with Fudge is more than ready to ship her off to Azkaban, when Dumbledore interferes. Through powers of persuasion Willow is given a sentence at Hogwarts. She also gets cleaned up, and is given new books, robes, and a very special wand made of stone. Upon arrival, she is reunited with her "Aunt Trelawney" (who'd of thunk it?) and gets sorted into Hufflepuff. Last, but certainly not least, she finds out that she's going to be an assistant teacher in DADA. At the Great Feast, she is then shocked to discover that the professor she will be assisting is none other than Severus Snape! The students are doomed, Willow is definitely done-for, and that is where this chapter picks up…**

**_ShadowElfBard_**

Two Days Later

2:13 pm

Defense Against the Dark Arts class

(**Willow**)

Hell, thy name is Defense Against the Dark Arts.

   I knew it was going to be bad from the start, knew that none of it would be easy, but it would have been nice for someone to inform me that I was going to want to rip my hair out in agony. The class itself, the teaching part, isn't all that bad. Most of the creatures or spells that we've been teaching about I've come up against before. No, the class is easy, really. It's that _demon_ that's pissing me off.

   Yes, it's official. There is no possible way that Severus could be anything but an evil, greasy, horned demon from a hell dimension where they demoralize and humiliate you for eternity. That's all there is to it. No mortal man could possibly be this horrid (I used a Giles word! :-D).

   Maybe this is punishment. It is the Wiccan rede that if a witch casts an evil spell, she will be punished three times for the wrongdoing. Maybe the Goddess decided that she didn't have time to send three different punishments my way, and so she just balled them all into one conglomeration, breathed life into it, and named it Snape.

   But, oh look; it's time for class again. Maybe if I try really hard, I'll actually get to teach something without having to hold back from killing my colleague.

   The Gryffendors and Slytherins file in, looking warily from me to Snape. So far Snape and I have only taught two classes (if you can call it teaching) and it was with the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Obviously, word must have gotten around what those joyful hours were like, and so the students fear what might come next.

   To tell the truth, so do I.

   The current object of my loathing stands in front of the class with a smirk on his face and an almost twinkle in his eye.

   "Good afternoon, class. I trust that you are just as excited as I am to be once again back at Hogwarts, ready for another year of parchment filling, spell casting, and…" his smirk widens, "…general torture."

   A small boy near the back of the class with a toad (eep!) on his desk gulps nervously and starts to shake.

   "I, Professor Snape, whom most of you know from Potions, will be heading your Defense Against the Dark Arts class this year."

   "Along with me," I quickly pipe in, "Professor Rosenberg."

   Snape shoots me a glare that could boil water, enraged, it seems, at the very fact that I exist. I ignore him though, and sit back down in my seat by the desk. Note the fact that I have to sit by the desk, not at it. You see, Professor Snape has, for the past classes, treated me as though I wasn't even there. I've been ignored, sometimes humiliated, and forced to run around on pointless errands like some secretary.

    Which, to clarify, I am not.

   "Ah, yes," Snape says in a forced, sickly sweet tone, "this is my… assistant. But do not think for one moment that I am not the dominant authority in this classroom." He narrows his eyes. "Should any of you get it into your tiny brains that it would be a good idea to disrupt my lesson, you will answer to _me_."

   Did anyone else feel a sudden chill? Anyone? Anyone at all?

   "Now then," Snape continues, once again returning to his belief that I'm not there, "this year you are going to be taught a multitude of information that the previous professors of this class have been too incompetent to teach. There will be no simple boggarts, no copying words out of textbooks. You will work, oh yes, and you will face things from the darkest reaches of your psyche, but you will not pass this class with both your mind and body intact if you think for one moment that this years' Defense Against the Dark Arts will be anywhere close to the ones you've had in the past.  You will actually be required to _think_." He gives a sneer. "Which, I'm afraid, will leave _you_ out of the equation, Mr. Longbottom."

    There is a rise of snickers from the Slytherins at that, and angry glares from the Gryffendors. "Mr. Longbottom" simply reddens and shrinks down in his seat.

   "Well, let's get started." Snape turns and motions to me. I stand, wondering if I'm finally going to be able to help teach this class, when he points towards a large scroll lying on the desk. I deadpan. _You big stupid-head_, I think hotly.

   With obvious reluctance I pick up the scroll, walk over, and drop it into his outstretched hand, trying to ignore his high and mighty smirk as I return to my seat, silently cursing him in every language I know.

   And, in case you were wondering, I know three.

   Snape unravels the parchment and holds it up, showing a picture of a strange, bat-winged beast. "This is a mystical beast which I am very reluctant to even mention to you, because I highly doubt that any of you possess the iota of knowledge needed to even understand this creature's relevance to today's lesson. But, as a result of the unwisely idolized _Lupin_," Snape puts as much loathing as he can into the name, " you have done nothing more than conjure a sundress for a boggart. So it is understandable why I am so rather anxious to evaluate any skill you might possibly possess."

   While everyone else seems to grimace at this portent of doom, one bushy-haired girl leans in so far that she's almost out of her seat—her eyes filled with an anticipatory eagerness.

   With a quick swish of his wand Severus gets rid of the scroll and magically opens a drawer to the desk at which I'm currently seated. I watch in curiosity and more than a little agitation as a small cage containing an even smaller creature floats over to Snape's open hand. He holds up the locked-in beast and slowly shows it to his uneasy students.  
   "This is a gargoylas. A cousin to the well-known gargoyle, but with certain unshared features. Would any of you happen to know what those features are? Anyone? Anyone at all?"

   The frizzy haired girl is almost whining in frustration, her arm nearly out of its socket.

   Snape, however, purposefully ignores her.

   Just as I'm beginning to wonder how long we're all going to have to sit here before my esteemed _colleague_ gives in and lets the girl answer, a tentative hand is raised in the back. Snape raises a cool brow and nods at the student—a small boy with nervous blue eyes and chestnut brown hair.

   "Yes?" Snape asks in a flat, almost uninterested tone. "And your name is…?"

   "Ph-Phillip Klein, sir. And, um…" the boy squirms in his seat, "i-isn't the gargoylas not affected by sunlight and um… is, is really strange 'cause it is, uh…" he gulps and finishes weakly, " both male and female?"

   There is a deathly silence.

   "That is… correct," Severus says slowly, letting the air back into the room. He squints at the student. "What House are you in?"

   "Sl-Slytherin, sir."

   Snape looks positively shocked, but is, amazingly, still calm and cool. "Really? With how spineless you are? The Sorting Hat must be losing its touch."

   The boy nearly faints from the release of pressure and slides down into his seat where his companions automatically began patting his hands and reassuring him of his safety.

    Before I know what I'm doing, before I even have a chance to think about the consequences, I suddenly blurt out, "Good job, Mr. Klein. Five points to Slytherin."

   By the stunned stillness in the room, I can pretty much guess that I've done something wrong. Hm… I wonder what it could be? (Please note the heavy sarcasm in my thoughts.)

   Snape turns around slowly, like a tough and serrated bottle cap that someone is trying to twist off with their hands. His very posture growls anger and insult. If I wanted to, I could probably guess what he's thinking right now. It's probably something along the lines of, _You insolent, and stupid little girl! Who do you think you are, awarding points like you're a teacher or something?_

   Well, gee, Mr. Snape, I guess I only did it because I'M NOT JUST YOUR FREAKING ASSISTANT, DUM-DUM HEAD! _I'M_ A TEACHER, TOO!

   For a moment Severus and I lock eyes, and we glare at each other in what can only be described as a standoff. I'm too riled up to back down and he's too full or righteous fury to admit that I was justified in awarding those House points.

   But, strangely, Snape decides to step down on this one, perhaps thinking that there will be other, more important battles in the future and this one is too trivial to waste time on. He forces his thin lips to form something resembling a smile, and looks back over at Phillip.

   "Yes, 'good job', Mr. Klein."

   And once Snape has faced the cage again, I hear a small and amazed voice whisper, "Merlin's beard… have I gone off my rocker or has Professor Snape just given a compliment?!"

    Upon hearing that, I mentally smile and think, _I wouldn't take it too seriously. Not if the way his hand is trembling in rage is any indication of his _true _feelings._

   "The gargoylas' relevance to this class," Severus begins, still shaking with suppressed ire, "is, as Mr. Klein mentioned, in the interesting fact that it has no determined sex."

   There are a few giggles at this, and Severus rolls his eyes but continues talking.

   "The focus of today's lesson, however, is not the creature itself. The gargoylas is merely the subject that will be used to demonstrate a new spell."

    At these words he puts the small cage down on the floor and aims his wand at it. "_Engorgo!_"

   The class (and myself) watch in awe as the cage-- and the scary, hairy creature inside it—grow life size. Oh, and did I point out that it's really, really ugly? Not to mention that it most certainly has both male and female… um… parts.

   The creature looks around in silence, astonished at how small we've become, and then starts growling and hollering as it had before. Only this time, with its larger size, the howls and roars from this creature are not small and comical, they are_deafening_. The students aren't the only ones in the class shuddering at the sound, I'll tell you that much.

   Snape glares briefly at the creature, and then mutters a spell and idly flicks his wand. The gargoylas' mouth melds closed, and its' eyes blink in almost comical confusion.

   "The spell I am going to attempt to teach you is relatively simple, but does require some technique. Are any of you familiar with the _Sepratorum_ curse? No? I did not think so."

   "Then why did you ask, you cretin?" I mutter under my breath.

   "The _Sepratorum_ is designed to split the victim into two separate beings, one filled with one aspect, the other filled with the opposite aspect. All the spell-caster need do is specify what feature he wants divided. This comes in handy, because while it separates the aspect, it divides the being's strength, speed, and abilities as well. Still lost? I expected as much. Fine, just watch."

   We do just that (and with rapt attention) as Snape does the unthinkable—he unlocks the creature's cage.

   Though the gargoylas' mouth is missing, its' razor sharp claws are still as ready for shredding as they were before, and they slide out of their sheaths not moments after the door to its' cage swings open. The beast shoots into the air with its' powerful wings—sending the students under their desks and swirling up loose parchment in a whirlwind of chaos.  It narrows its' green-gold eyes at Snape and then makes a falcon's dive at his face—the tiny daggers it calls claws aimed with deadly precision.

   To his credit, however, Snape does not flinch (I'm beginning to suspect that he's the bigger monster in this showdown), but instead aims his wand almost lazily and yells out, "_Sepratorum_ sex!"

   The creature's lethal dive stops short as it collides with a purple-black stream from Snape's wand. The gargoylas, bewildered and dazed, seems to halt in midair, beating its' wings slowly, and then falls to the ground in a crumpled heap.

   The students peek out from under their desks, a few even throwing caution to the wind and coming all the way out. I, myself, however, am perfectly content in my crouch, thank you.

   After a few more seconds, all of the students are getting back into their seats. One such student, a blonde-haired Gryffendor boy, gives a nervous smile. "Well," he says, "that was sort of anticlimac—"

   There's a fresh wave of screams and dives for desks as a brilliant white light engulfs the motionless body of the gargoylas. This time, once everything has calmed down again, there are two creatures where before there had been only one. In almost synchronized movement the two beasts slowly stand and outstretch their wings, studying each other with confused curiosity. It is here that Snape decides to pick up the lesson.

   "If you have taken time from your quivering to notice," he says with a curled lip, "the gargoylas is now duplicated, with just one small difference between the two copies." His curled lip rises even higher with mirth. "Can you see this 'small difference'?"

  _If they can't,_ I thought to myself, _then they're _blind_._

  The difference? Well, to make it as obvious as I can without being vulgar, let's just say that one of them now has a burrito, while the other has a taco. That's right: He/She has become Mister and Missus. And do the students notice? Puh-_leaze_. These are pre-teens and teenagers we're talking about. They practically _search_ for this kind of thing. And if the girl's blushes and the guy's leers are any indication, they've found it.

   As we're all captivated by this strange and more than slightly disturbing scene, there's a snicker from the back and I recognize the owner almost straight away. It's the clone! The little blonde-haired boy who sneered at me in greeting when I was caught in Knockturn alley! Snape hears the snicker as well and puckers his lips in distaste.

   "Do you find something amusing about the _Sepratorum_ curse, Mr. Malfoy?"

   Mr. Malfoy (I seem to remember his name as Drain-o, or Drape, or something like that) raises an eyebrow in cool amusement, his little smile/sneer in place. "I was just wondering, professor, how separating the creature's bush from its' todger makes it easier to kill."

   That got a loud, appreciative laugh from everyone in the class, including the Gryffendors, and Snape's lips tighten so much that they seemed to fold in on themselves. I'm left behind for a few minutes, not familiar with the slang, before I realize what 'bush' and 'todger' must mean, and have to suppress a grin of my own.

   Without waiting for the adolescent chuckling to die down, Snape says, "Well if you don't learn well through listening, Draco, perhaps you would better learn through an interactive demonstration."

   There is complete silence at this, and Draco Malfoy blanches.

   Snape smiles thinly. "Please come up here, Mr. Malfoy, and do be so kind as to bring your wand as well."

  Malfoy looks from the boy on his right to the boy on his left (both of enormous girth and probably equal stupidity) but when they both give small, helpless shrugs he nervously stands and walks to the font of the classroom.

    Snape is obviously amused, and speaks to Draco in a light, amiable tone. "Did you know, Mr. Malfoy, that the gargoylas is listed as the fourth deadliest magical creature? It's right after hippogriffs, actually. You remember what hippogriffs are, don't you?"

   There's a round of snickers at that, and I see Ron, Harry, and the frizzy-haired girl grin at each other knowingly.

   Draco simply nods, his wary eyes on the two gargoylas.

   "So," Snape continues, "If my dividing spell has not worked, and if it truly has done nothing more than create two deadly beasts instead of one, you will presumably be mauled to death if you attack it."

   "Presumably," Draco squeaks.

   "Well then, we have a perfect way to prove or disprove your doubts! All you need do is assail them with a rudimentary spell. If you miraculously manage to injure them, then we will know that the _Sepratorum_ works. If the opposite happens and you are killed, I will, of course, admit that I was wrong and apologize. Good luck."

   And so, ignoring Malfoy's bulging, terrified eyes and gaping mouth, Snape shoves Malfoy in the direction of the gargoyles and steps back to watch with a cruel glimmer in his eyes.

   The moment that Malfoy crosses into the gargoylas' territory, stepping over that imaginary line that marks one's boundaries, they both let out fierce bellows that the wildest lion would cower before, and swoop at him, talons outstretched. They are the hawks in this scenario, and Malfoy but a little fish that is unable to swim away.

   For one, awful moment I'm sure that this rude but still innocent boy will be shredded to pieces before my wide, shocked eyes. But, luckily, it seems that this Professor Lupin that Snape isn't too keen on must have taught the boy something more than "conjuring sundresses for boggarts" because he manages to raise his wand and launch a spell despite his fear. I'm unable to hear the word he must have whispered (I don't think my voice box would be working too well at this moment, either) and a little stream of fire spurts forth from the tip of his wand. What happens next is one of the most amazing things I have ever seen happening.

   Now, remember that these gargoylas are roughly six feet tall and armed to the teeth. They have rippling muscles, mighty wings, dagger-tipped claws and thick, powerful tails that can literally sweep you off your feet. Now, also remember that Malfoy is nearly peeing his pants with terror, and therefore is not going to have all his wits together enough to be up to his full potential. Whatever spell he manages to cast— no matter how powerful it might usually be— is going to be dinky. And that's the best-case scenario! So it is understandable why I am a little stunned when I see Malfoy's dinky little fire smidgen bring down not one, but _both_ of the gargoylas.

  The two beasts hit the ground hard— knocked out, K-O'd, pulled under, and out cold. In other words, they're down for the count.

   "And that," Snape whispers calmly, "Is the significance of the _Sepratorum_."

   There's a moment more of silence, and then the Slytherins stand up. They stand, and they clap, and they hoot and holler at the tope of their lungs. Malfoy swells with pride then (he seems to be able to swell very easily, it appears) and gives—to my utter amazement— a confident little smirk. The kind of smirk that seems to say, _Yes, cheer for me, my adoring fans. I am great, and I am powerful. I had everything under control from the moment I stood up._ That little smirk makes my blood boil and my head throb because, as you well know, he had _not_ had everything under control. Heck, when those two creatures had swooped down on him I doubt if he'd had his _bladder_ under control.

   But he accepts his praise as though he had, and walks back to his seat waving and bowing like a politician. Snape even smiles a little at him (he probably had this planned all along— I'd forgotten that Malfoy is in his House) and gives a golfer's clap before he magically poofs away the comatose bodies of the gargoylas. The Gryffendors simply look at each other with nausea written all over their faces, just as I'm sure that same disgust is decorating my own features.

   Severus Snape, that arrogant, jerk of a dum-dum head, turns in my direction then, and I can hardly keep from pummeling him when I see his own little smirk. A smirk that, like Malfoy's, speaks loudly and plainly.

   _And do you _still_ think you can be a teacher? _it says, high and mighty. _Do you still think you can pull anything even close to what I pulled just now? You are nothing more than an empty-headed little American girl who is only here to brew me tea, and you are too stupid to even have reached _that_ obvious conclusion._

My scowl is just as loud, however, and to that ostentatious smirk it replies:__

_   You suck._

Review Returns:

**   azulkan2:** Thanks for the compliment but (and I'm truly sorry about this) Severus and Willow will NOT be hooking up. It's just not in the cards, though I know that many wish it were.

**   lazybones:** I'm glad that you like the Hufflepuff thing, and I like the idea of Willow driving Snape insane (or the other way around). At this point, it's very possible.

**   Watcher Tale Neith:** Dang it! I _thought _that he'd already been given a name… sigh Thanks for the real name, though. As I mentioned to azulkan2, I'm afraid that Sevvie and Willow aren't getting together. Sorry. But, as to your last bit, you're right, it _would _be amusing.

**   ColdFang:** Thanks!

**   Spearsister:** Yeah, I loved the last line too. It just seemed to fit so well! And thanks for not teasing me, but I think that this time you'd probably be justified in doing so.

**   Phoenix83ad:** Whoa! Thanks for the long review! I can't tell you how delighted I was when I saw it. And so, to be fair, I will attempt to write you an equally long response.

   Thanks for the compliment on the perspectives— I sometimes feel like they just don't line up but I'm glad to see that you don't think so. Also, interesting questions, and I hope I can answer them for you. As to the "How would Willow not know she's a witch?" question, it wasn't completely clarified in "Gingerbread" that Willow's mother remembered, and, also, who's to say that she really believes that Wiccans have power? Her mother was more angry at the fact that she wasn't Jewish and was (in her opinion) in a cult, rather than at the idea that her daughter might have supernatural powers. And as to her father mentioning it, he didn't know. Trelawney, as all readers know, is not the most powerful witch. She is, in fact, about as close as a witch can come to being a squib. The only powers she has (which are faint at best) come from her grandmother, and she did not discover that she was a witch until she was sixteen or so, and by that point her parents had broken up and she'd been separated from her brother (Willow's father) who'd been sent to live with her mother. Hope that answers it for you!

   Lol, you're right about the kids being doomed, and I am also happy to tell you that this isn't a Snape/Willow love story, but she _will_ be paired with someone. Hope you enjoy the chapter, and once again I thank you for the review.

**    Zanna:** LOL, all right, all right. I'll update. Chuckle

**   Usakura:** Genius? WOW. I've never had my work called "genius" before… thanks! And, no, I'm sorry but Willow and Snape won't becoming an item.

**   Village-Mystic: **Thank you VERY much for reviewing all of those chapters. It was a wonderful surprise. I'm sorry if my review begging came off as needy and annoying, and I want to assure you that your statement about it got through loud and clear. I'm going to try harder to be more blasé about them. Also, the fairs and festivals proposal is rather interesting and I might just be able to use it… hmm… anyways, thanks a bunch for the reviews, and I hope you're still enjoying the story.

   **Dragonsdaughter1:** Lol, I'm glad I was able to keep you on your toes. Thanks for the review!

**   Chaos Eternus:** First off, I love your pen name. Very cool. Also, what does "ROTFMLAO" stand for? And lastly, thanks for the review, and I think you're right about the trio's response. D.

**   Braindead:** You giggled? Lol, thanks. I'm glad you got a kick out of it.

**   Prophetess Of Hearts:** YES MA'M! giggle

**   Selene 12:** I'm pleased that I was able to surprise you. Thanks for the nice review, and it's okay— I'm impatient too. ;-D

**   Sigma1:** Wow, I didn't know that anyone was going to be so enthusiastic about my Sorting choice… to tell the truth, I was actually expecting flames. Oh, and the Sorting Hat's exact words about Hufflepuff were:

   "_…Hufflepuff,_

_   Where they are **just** and loyal,_

_   Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_   And unafraid of toil;_"

"Just" could easily be translated into justice because the synonym for "just" is fair, or impartial, just like justice is supposed to be. Hope that clears up my reasoning!

**   Chrios:** Thanks for the correct name, and I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter!

**   Darklight:** Yep (LOL), poor Sev.

**   Cow as White as Milk:** First off, can I just say that you have one of the most original pennames that I have ever seen? Very cool. Glad you enjoyed the chapter, and thanks for the review!

**   Jason Barnett:** Yes, you're right, a prison's still a prison, and don't think for one moment that Willow has forgotten that. She is, in fact, still dangerously depressed but is fighting it as best she can. You will see examples of this in later chapters. Maybe I could also squeeze in a visit from the Daily Prophet, but you have to remember that the Ministry is trying to keep Willow's presence (and her crime) as secret as possible. Lastly, I'm not sure whether or not I agree with you on the "a life for a life", but I'm glad that you understand why I decided to play up the "justice" aspect of Hufflepuff. Thanks for the review!

   Hey, everybody… heh, heh. Ahem. Nervous gulp All right, all right, I admit it. This chapter took a little while to post (now _there's_ an understatement) and I did sort of leave you all hanging when I wrote that I was going to try harder to have speedier updates. But I did try harder! You just won't _believe_ what's happened! I've had my computer shut down and then (weeks later) given an extra hard drive that didn't fix the problem we shut it down for; I was grounded from the computer because I was on the Internet too long (Okay, maybe that one _was_ my fault… a little); _and_ I had writer's block all last month. I understand as well as you probably do that these are all excuses of one type or another, but they're the truth, and the only one I have. I apologize, deeply and truly I do, and I'll just have to hope you don't abandon my story because of it. Thanks, and I hope to talk to you soon.

   Tootles!


	12. Back In Sunnydale: Part One

**Disclaimer:** I'm just taking it out for a spin and hoping that I'm not pulled over.

**Rating:** Eh… let's call it a PG-13 to be safe.

**Feedback:** If it's not too much trouble I'd greatly appreciate it!

**!!!Author's Note!!!**: **Hey, this is going to be a short chapter. I had originally planned on making just one long chapter, but then realized that I'd found a good stopping point and that I didn't want to lose track of time and nd up posting it in August. So, in short, this chapter is going to be short, and the next one is going to be short, but hopefully the speedy updates will make up for that.**

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Back in Sunnydale…

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"Holy—!" the young man screamed, jumping off the park bench in fright. He'd been deeply involved in necking with his girlfriend, getting to third-base with her the only thing on his hormone-enraged mind, but when he'd seen her eyes go wide and heard her shriek of terror he'd paused and turned around. The thing facing him was something out of a Stephen King movie, but he wasn't going to stick around to question whether or not this creature was real. He wanted to _live_, thank you very much.

His girlfriend (a blonde who went above and beyond the call of duty as a stereotype) couldn't stop screeching and looked as though she was totally oblivious to the idea of running. She seemed _determined_ to scare this bloodsucker away simply by flailing her arms and legs and screaming bloody murder. But, as all good horror movie watchers know, if that's the best defense you've got then you're going to show up in the credits as "third dead teenager".

The cause of all this commotion was a fledgling vampire that looked as young and untrained as he truly was. He'd been sired only last week by a minion that had been about as smart as a bowl of tapioca pudding. Sadly, his sire was no longer among the living, having been staked by a six-year-old three nights ago. (At the time, the child in question had been wielding a very dangerous Popsicle stick.) Needless to say, the fledgling was not all that great a hunter, and so when he came across the dumb chick and her equally stupid jock of a boyfriend making out in the park, he considered it a stroke of luck. Dinner would be no trouble at all tonight, and if he played his cards right dessert wasn't totally out of the question, either.

Unbeknownst to all of them, however, was the fact that all of the yelling had attracted the attention of the sensitive-eared Slayer, Buffy Summers.

Heaving a sigh, the Chosen One sprinted off in the direction of the noise, whipping out a stake and thinking that this _better_ not be another false alarm. Not even an hour ago she'd heard a similar scream, and had run to the screamer's aid only to discover that it was just some kids playing tackle football. Surprise! But seriously— Who played football at two in the morning?

_But it's not like I have anything important to do, right?_ she grumbled silently, upping her speed another notch. _Noooo, it's not like I might actually _want_ to sleep tonight. What sane person would want to do _that_?_

"I would," she muttered quietly as she turned into the park.

She spotted the trouble quickly enough, and had to keep from rolling her eyes in disgust. Before her was a classic-to-the-point-of-being-cliché scene: guy and girl have a make out session in the park, pheromones, hot blood and noises then attract vampire, who scares guy off bench and causes girl to freak out. If this were a TV show, she'd fire the writers.

The "brave" boyfriend was currently scrambling away backwards like a crab, his baggy pants nearly all of the way off and his mouth open like a fish. The vampire seemed to be ignoring him for the moment, however, and was leaning down towards a shrieking ball of pink, fluffy cotton that Buffy could only assume was the guy's girlfriend.

"Duty calls," she murmured, not without a detectable hint of reluctance.

"Hey, dirt-brain!"

The vampire turned in her direction, confused.

Buffy strolled towards him, concealing her stake ever so slightly behind her back. She wouldn't have been able to hide her identity from a Master vampire, but then again this guy didn't look much like a master of _anything_.

"That's right, big boy— I'm talking to you. Maybe you're not such a large, slobbering idiot, after all."

The fledgling (his human name had been Andy) snarled a little at that, but remained where he was, unsure of what to do. Yes, he should drain this newcomer for talking to him like that, and she was just a girl, but he already _had_ a prime meal curled up before him. If he tried to get this new girl, she might escape him. And if she escaped him, this curled up ball of blood wouldn't be here when he got back. Also, on the _other_ hand…

"I've seen _slugs_ that move faster than you! Are you just going to stand there drooling all night?"

Ah, screw it.

Buffy smirked and crouched low as the fledgling charged her, his game face pulled back in a snarl and his arms out in front of him. She waited patiently until he was right on her, and made like she was going to attack him straight on. At the crucial moment, however, she darted to the left and stuck her right leg out. He tripped over it as she'd known he would, and the second his face hit the dirt she shifted her weight enough to stab her stake through his exposed back and into his heart.

Buffy coughed and waved the resulting dust out of her face, frowning.

_Stupid vampires and their vampire-dust_, she cursed. _I'm going to get a sinus infection one of these days._

She turned around and spotted the couple again. The guy was finally on his feet with his pants up, and he was hugging his girlfriend, who stood beside him. Both were staring at her with wide, amazed eyes. Buffy set her jaw and strode over to them angrily.

"You," she bit out, stabbing an accusing finger at the girl, "are the reason that blondes have stereotypes."

The girlfriend gawked.

"And _you_," she turned to the boy, "are simply pathetic. The two of you go home right now, and _stay_ there."

The teens looked at each other, seemed to agree that it was indeed time to leave, and turned to do just that… and quickly.

"And no stopping to smooch!" Buffy yelled after their retreating figures.

She watched them for a moment longer, and then sighed. Her shoulders sagged, her eyelids drooped, and her whole body just sort of deflated. She was _tired_. She was tired, and she wanted to go _home_. But, casting another glance at her watch, she knew in her heart that she couldn't— not just yet. There were still a good two more hours of darkness left, and some of the more desperate vamps saw this time as perfect for hunting.

But, she thought, brightening, that didn't mean that she couldn't make a quick stop for a pick-me up at one of the twenty-four hour places; coffee sounded really good right about now.

With this cheerful idea in place she made her way out of the park. No more than a few minutes later she was strolling down the empty sidewalk, her heart set on a good cappuccino. Mmmm…. Cappuccino….

"Oof!"

Her glazed eyes refocused and she backed up hurriedly away from the person she'd bumped into.

"Ohmygosh, I'm so sorry, are you o—?" She broke off in recognition. "_Clem?_"

The fuzzy, dog-eared demon waved at her eagerly, wearing a large and goofy grin. "Hi, Buffy! How did you recognize me?"

"Oh, it wasn't that hard," she said, amused. Clem was wearing a long gray trench coat and a black broad-brimmed hat, but even that wasn't enough to hide his downy puppy ears. Or his face, for that matter.

"What are you doing out here?" she asked.

"I'm just coming back from Willy's. Demons got a free drink tonight and I couldn't resist. So, what are _you_ doing out here?"

"I'm patrolling," Buffy answered, and was surprised to discover that she had to stifle a yawn.

Clem's cheer went down a notch at that, and his ears seemed to droop even more. He was still very uncomfortable at the idea that she was The Slayer— it was instinctive, he supposed. "Oh. I, uh, I didn't know that you worked so late."

"Neither did I," Buffy muttered. "By the way, I've noticed that I never see any of your kind when I go out. Why is that?"

"Oh, that?" Clem responded with a laugh. "My species tends to shy away from hot spots like the Hellmouth. We are soft and covered with fuzz, after all. I just came here because my cousin Benny recommended it as a good place to find some fun. I discovered Parcheesi here, you know."

"Your cousin Benny? Where's he?"

"He's dead," Clem said simply.

She immediately regretted asking. "Oh, I'm sorry, was he…?"

"No, no. He wasn't Slain, if that's what you're asking. He got food-poisoning in Tijuana; my kind have very sensitive stomachs."

Buffy couldn't help thinking that it was a weird way to go.

Clem tilted his head a little, looking so much like a detective from an old black-and-white in that one moment that it was scary. "You look tired," he commented.

"Yeah, I've been patrolling all night and—"

"No, I mean _emotionally_. Like you've had a lot to deal with." Suddenly, realization (though of what, Buffy couldn't guess) dawned in his eyes. "Oh geez, you must still be feeling sad about Willow. She was a nice girl. It's too bad she left."

Both time and Buffy's heart stopped.

"What do you know about that?" she asked, the smile on her face only there because it had frozen on.

Clem seemed to notice her change and was instantly eager to be anywhere but here. His mouth snapped shut.

"I asked," Buffy reiterated, in a dangerous, sickly sweet tone, "_what do you know about that?_"

The demon gulped. "I-I heard things… just a few, really! Nothing you'd be interested in…"

"Tell me." The Slayer's voice left no room for arguments.

"Only that Willow had gone through some real bad stuff… That's she'd grown in power too much too fast, and that it had taken control over her when her girlfriend died. That's all."

"No." The Chosen One's cold eyes searched his face. "No, you're lying… that's not all you know."

As a rule, Buffy did not hurt the innocent. Number One: it was wrong, and Number Two: it made her look like nothing more than an assassin or hit-woman for the PTB— neither of which she truly was. On the other hand, however, Buffy wasn't home. The Slayer was, and The Slayer didn't care about Number One or Number Two. The Slayer only cared about getting the information it wanted out of the demon's mouth.

So, know that when she rammed Clem up against the brick wall, her forearm pressing firm against his jugular and her knee inches away from his family jewels, she wasn't Buffy— she was The Slayer.

"What else do you know?" she snarled. "I suggest you tell me everything, my friend, because if you don't than I'm going to have to get it out of you some other way."

Clem had never been one to get into fights or scuffles for one very good reason— he disliked pain. Couldn't tolerate it, in fact. Perhaps it was just another weakness of his species. Who knew? Clem certainly didn't. All he was sure of was that his privates were trembling in fear and his neck felt as though it had a gods-damned _barbell_ pressing into it.

"O-Okay. I—" he choked momentarily, and Buffy released the pressure just enough for him to regain some air flow. "I heard fr-from the stronger dem-demons around t-t-town, okay? They said that her, her girlfr-girlfriend was killed and that she," another fit of coughs, "she lost it and tried to end the, the world."

Buffy stepped—

_ (staggered)_

—back in shock, and Clem slumped to the ground in relief, massaging his neck.

"You, you heard all of that from just, just various demons?" she asked in disbelief.

"Yeah," he coughed out, before attempting to clear his throat. "I also heard that she went somewhere with Giles, came back, and then left again."

"But how…" she was momentarily at a loss for words. "…How did anyone know that she tried to end the world? There was no one on that cliff but Willow and Xander. _I_ didn't even know until Giles told me, and none of my friends would have talked to the demons about it. Spike couldn't have, either! He wasn't even in town! He went on some failed mission. _How could they know?_"

For once, Clem looked up at her in astonishment. "Geez… you mean you don't…? Didn't you _feel_ it?"

She was silent, her eyes telling him everything.

"You didn't, did you? Wow…"

"Why?" Buffy nearly shrieked from frustration. "Why is that such a big deal?!"

"Because _everyone _felt it," Clem said quietly. "It didn't matter if you were a vampire, witch, or halfling. I mean, _I _felt it, and I'm not even that much of a demon. I can't imagine what the more powerful wizards and demons must have felt."

"Do you mean to tell me," said Buffy with a wide, frightened look, "that any creature of the supernatural knows what Willow tried to do and how much power she has?"

Buffy didn't even wait for his chin to reach his chest in a nod before she took off at a sprint to Giles' house.

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"Giles? _Giles!_"

"…. The bloody…?" The Englishman murmured as he arose drowsily from sleep. After fumbling for his glasses on the nightstand and plunking them on, he glanced at his alarm clock and clutched his head in irritation and general sleepiness. "I don't know who it is," he muttered, "but if they expect me to answer my door at two in the morning they can _go get stuffed_!"

"Giles?! Are you up?! It's me, Buffy! I need to talk to you! It's important!"

The Watcher's eyes nearly rolled back in his head and he moaned. _Nothing's important at three in the morning unless it involves sleep, _he thought petulantly. _Go _away!

"Look, I'm going to go get Anya and Xander! I'll meet you at the Magic Box around six. Don't forget!"

He listened as closely as his pounding head would allow, and thought he heard the footsteps trailing away from his front door. Then, loosing a relieved sigh, he flopped back down on his pillow and attempted to go to bed once more.

Be there at six. Uh huh.

Not bleeding likely.

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Review Returns:

** Sigma1:** Lol, I'm pretty sure that you'd have to get in line to beat Snape up… there are a lot of fans ahead of you. :-D. Also, I'm glad that you think I'm getting the hang of these chapters, because sometimes I'm just not so sure. Anywho, thanks for the review!

** Cow as White as Milk:** Thank you very much for the review, but… what the heck does ROFLMAO mean?!

** Kir:** Well thanks for joining the crew, Kir! I'm glad that you enjoy the story, and your suggestion had already been twisted into the story plotline… can't say much more on that for now, but you'll probably see what I mean next chapter.

** Brandyllyn:** Wow, thanks. I feel as though I've received an award of some kind… Wow. Also, as to the hat thing, I too often have trouble finding one when I need it. Thanks for the review, and I hope to receive more from you in the future!

**BC1:** Thanks! I hope you enjoyed this one as well!

** Phoenix83ad:** -chuckle- Yet another lengthy and pleasant review from you, phoenix. Leave the story on the back burner? Goodness, no! This is positively the most popular story I've ever written, and it would be wrong to abandon it. Also, yes, many DO want to slap Snape silly, so one has to admire Willow's self-control on the matter. As to not doing a Snape/Willow story, no problem. I've never really liked them myself. I can only hope that you will like the person that she'll be paired with, but I'd like to emphasis that the future relationship is NOT the focus of this story, and the decision to even have one was, in my mind, a last minute decision. Anywho, thanks for the lengthy review, and I'm glad that you found my explanation acceptable!

** Spearsister:** Lol, I like how you think. Thanks for the review!

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Well, I really do hope that you all enjoyed the chapter, and you can probably expect the next one in a week or so. Thanks again for your patience and compliments!

Tootles!


	13. Back In Sunnydale: Part Two

**Disclaimer: **If I were either J.K. Rawling or Joss Whedon, I would have an editor checking this stuff instead of Microsoft Word's crappy 'Spell Check'.****

**Rating:** PG-13, as usual.

**Feedback:** It's like winning the superbowl, receiving a gold medal at the Olympics, and earning a trophy at the end of a long, harsh race.

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Still in Sunnydale…

6:07 am

The Magic Box

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Xander Harris yawned widely, his sleepy face stretched taut. He blinked blearily and licked his dry lips, sniffling slightly. Gosh, he was tired. Buffy had come to his home like a hurricane, knocking and rapping so hard that he'd thought the door would break down. She was the Slayer, after all. He'd somehow forced his body into an upright position and answered the knocks only to be assaulted by streams of panicky words from Buffy's mouth. In the end, all he'd caught was: Willow, Magic Box, come. And, too groggy to think anything more on it, he'd dazedly shrugged on a robe and shuffled into some sandals to come down here. Exactly why, however, was still a mystery to him.

Anya hadn't had quite the same experience, but her own visit was close enough to be considered plagiarism. She was currently sitting cross-legged on a couch, her own silky pajamas stretched tight against her angrily crossed arms.

"This better be good," she growled. "I was enjoying a very nice dream in which a muscular, sweaty man was—"

"Was I this 'muscular, sweaty man'?" Xander interrupted with a grin, waggling his eyebrows.

Anya frowned at him. "No, of course not."

His face fell and Spike, reclining comfortably on the loveseat and fully dressed in boots and leather, laughed outright. He had also been more than irritated at being dragged over here (he'd been getting ready to settle down for the night, or day, depending on your perspective), but had been coaxed out of his crypt with promises of fresh blood and Wheatabix, along with television privileges for the rest of the week.

Xander gave Spike a look of pure malice. "Oh, shut up, Dead-boy Jr."

The vampire smirked. "I'm sorry, mate, but it's not my fault that you're too much of a tosser for your bird to be arching for it."

"What does that even _mean?_"

"Hey!"

The Magic Box's current occupants turned their heads towards the door. Buffy was striding in, a very angry look in her eyes.

"All of you better calm down," she warned, obviously meaning business. Giles stumbled in behind her and clutched his head, his face the epitome of grogginess and fatigue. He had the look of a man suffering from a hangover, and whose unfortunate ear was next to a jackhammer.

"If you don't mind my asking, Slayer," Spike drawled from his position on the couch, not at all phased by her abrupt and commanding tone, "why in the bloody hell are we here?"

"We're here," Buffy said, slamming the door shut, "for Willow."

At this news even Giles perked up.

"Willow?" Anya reiterated in confusion. "But Willow's not here."

"That's part of the trouble. She could be in very serious danger and she's not here for us to protect her. My idea was—"

"Now wait, hold on a minute," Giles interrupted, one hand out in front as if to steady himself, "what is this 'danger' that you're so worried about? How is Willow in danger?"

Buffy tapped her foot irritably. "I was getting to that." She of course had not had the slightest intention of doing so, but no one had to know that.

"Well then," Xander urged, "go on. What's up with Wills?"

The slayer took in a breath. "I was talking to Clem earlier this morning and somehow Willow got into the conversation." She looked at them pointedly. "He told me that he knew about Willow trying to end the world."

Spike quirked an eyebrow. "So? What's so bloody—?"

"No, hold on, let her finish," Giles urged, interested despite himself.

"He also told me that he's not the only one who knows about it. According to him, _everyone_ of the supernatural felt it. That means that some power-hungry warlock or, or demon or something could be tracking Willow down, hoping to get her power!"

Xander looked worried. "Well what should we do, then? Do you have a plan, Buff?"

Buffy nodded. "One of us has to find Willow and bring her back. She can only really be protected in Sunnydale. I was planning on being the one to go after her, and so I'll need someone to watch Dawn. Xander, do you think you could?"

Giles stepped forward angrily. "No. Absolutely out of the question."

Xander frowned. "I can watch Dawn, I've—"

"No, no, I'm not talking about that," he explained. "What I mean is that Buffy can't leave."

The Chosen One turned on him. "What?!"

Not backing down, Giles met her enraged eyes. "Buffy, there are at _least_ two very dangerous prophecies that are foretold to occur within the next week or so, the graygark demon is still on the loose—"

"I'm working on it," Buffy muttered.

"—_And_ we don't know if Willow even _is_ in danger. This is all speculation and guesswork. Willow is probably fine, Buffy, and Sunnydale, not to mention the _world_, needs you here."

"Well what about sending Xander, then?"

Now it was Anya's turn to stand. "You're not taking my intercourse partner. Orgasms don't make themselves, you know."

Embarrassed, Xander turned to her. "Anya—"

"No. You're staying here, and I'm sure not going. Willow's a big girl, she can take care of herself."

Buffy blinked in disbelief. "So that's it?"

Giles smiled sympathetically. "Yes, I'm afraid so. Xander can't go, Anya won't, and I have too much book work here. It's simply impossible right now, Buffy. Please try to understand that."

Nodding solemnly, Buffy lowered her head. "I understand. I'm sorry I woke you all up."

Fifteen minutes later the lights to the Magic Box were out and everyone had gone home to catch up on their lost sleep. Spike had run back to his crypt, making it just in time, and was watching the telly in private victory.

"Cor, what a bunch of wankers," he muttered, listening as John Kerry explain to Cynthia Reeds of CNN why the American people needed to vote for him.

He'd just flipped the channel to Comedy Central's "South Park" when, for the second time that day, someone knocked on the door.

"Bleedin' Christ!" he exclaimed in annoyance, shooting a dirty look at the entrance to his crypt. He threw open the door with a yank, careful to stand to the side to avoid the resulting sunlight. Once his visitor had fully entered, spike slammed it shut.

"Well, who are you, mate, and why are you here? I'd get to the point and quick, because I'm well brassed off and up for some aggro."

His guest stepped into what little light there was and the blonde had to admit it—he was surprised.

"Slayer? What are you doing here? Seeing me once wasn't enough?"

"I hate to say it, but I want your help."

Spike smiled, amused. "Do you now? And what could I help you with, luv?"

Buffy narrowed her eyes. "Stop fooling around. Look, like I said at the meeting, I feel that Willow could be in very serious danger. If Giles and the others won't do anything about it, I need you to."

The vampire's amusement and surprise turned quite suddenly to shock. "Are you off your rocker?"

"I know that Giles wouldn't approve of it and Xander would probably go ballistic, but I think that with that chip in your head you're at least reasonably safe enough to do this."

"Are you asking me," Spike said slowly, still not totally over his disbelief, "to leave Sunnydale by myself, without any of your annoying little Scooby pals playing nanny, and go to England to find Red?"

"Yes. I have no other option. I need to make sure that Willow is safe—I owe her that much."

"And how exactly do you expect me to get there?"

"By plane."

"With whose money?"

"Mine."

Spike's smile brightened. "Well that changes everything. Sure, I'll do it. I'll get to get away from Sunnyhell without having to worry about the Watcher, and I'll have the pleasure of knowing that you're not nearly as saintly as you make yourself out to be, Slayer. Sounds like a right blinding time."

Buffy took a step toward him. "You better take this seriously. For all I know, Willow's life might be on the line. You are simply to get there, find Willow, and bring her back." She handed him a wad of bills. "That's about five hundred dollars—all I was able to spare on such short notice. I don't care if you spend half of it or all of it. Just spend enough to get her _home_."

She turned away from him and headed for the door. "Oh, and Spike?"

"Yeah?"

"If I find out that you've managed to harm Willow or that you've abandoned your mission and fled the country, I will find you, beat you to a bloody pulp, and stake you out on a roof to watch the sun rise."

He watched her go, a look of mild disgust on his face, and shook his head. "Bold threats, Slayer, but they're not worth the breath you wasted to say them. I'll buy the bloody ticket to England and find the witch."

He shrugged on his duster and grinned in the darkness, his teeth flashing with malice.

"Besides—it'll be fun."

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Lightdemondarkangel: Wow, thanks for the enthusiastic review. You read them all non-stop (sort of)? That takes commitment! Thanks a bunch for the review, I hope you enjoyed this chapter as well!

Spearsister: I'm glad you liked how I wrote Clem—he's so difficult! And I also agree that Willow could take Snape in a fight anytime, anywhere. Thanks for the review!

GrahamId: Thanks for the compliments; I hope I can keep it up!

Sigma 1: Yes, I sorry for the delay. Willow will be in the next chapter, however, so buck up! ;-D And yes, the plot is moving forward… just not very speedily. Anywho, thanks for the review, and don't worry—you'll probably get a piece of Snape soon enough!


	14. Terrance

**Disclaimer:** Who do I look like? J.K. Rowling?

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Hagrid's Hut

5:09 pm

(**Willow**)

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"I just, I just can't believe it, Hagrid! How can he be so… so…. Argh! See? See what that poop head is doing to me?! I can't even talk right!!!"

My half-giant of a friend gives a small but troubled smile. "Aww, come now, Willow. I know he's… uh… he's a 'poop head', but yer lettin' him get ter ya. He's not all that bad."

I stop pacing and glare at him. "Yes. He. _Is_."

"Oh. Erm… alrighty, then. If you've got yer mind made up about it."

"I do. Today proves it. We—no, scratch that, _he_ was lecturing on a spell used to befuddle a weak-minded opponent. It was really neat because the original scripture of the spell was written in ancient Babylonian, which proves the theory that magick users have been around since the times of Hammurabi, and— " I shake my head, trying to refocus. "Never mind. The point is that he was lecturing on a spell to confuse stupid people. And do you know what he did then?"

"No," Hagrid says slowly, that worried look still on his face.

"He tried to use ME as an example! Me! He was obviously trying to say something, and I'm sure you can guess what. "

"Um…."

"He was trying to say that I'm stupid! That thickheaded, dung beetle-y guy was trying to call me an idiot!"

I stop then, my breathing labored and my fists clenched with rage. Hagrid is too stunned (or frightened) to speak, ands so he uncomfortably shifts in his chair, acting as though he's suddenly interested in his scuffed brown boots.

"Of course" I continue, slowly calming down, "he didn't actually perform the spell on me, 'cause he knew as well as I did that it wouldn't work. He ended up performing it on some kid named Goyle. Doesn't matter, though, because he succeeding in his objective anyways."

"His objective?" Hagrid asks.

I look at him disbelievingly. "The objective was making me look like a nincompoop." I heave a sigh. "And it worked. I heard the snickers. It was like high school all over again, except, you know, the mayor wasn't trying to turn into a giant snake and kill us all."

After an uncomfortable silence, Hagrid stands up. "Yer know, I'd almost forgotten ter tell ya. I found a griffon cub this morning."

"A what?" I look at him in surprise, ignoring the fact that this was an attempt at changing the subject. "Did you say that you found a _griffon_? An honest to goodness 'head of an eagle, body of a lion' _griffon_?"

"Er, I don't think that it's exactly what yer talkin' about, but yeah. 'Cept this little feller only has the wings of an eagle. The rest of him's like a pussy cat."

"A carnivorous, pointy-toothed pussy cat?" I ask with amusement, an eyebrow rose.

Hagrid blushes. "Well… yeah."

"How'd you find him?"

"I was taking Fang out for a run and he found it. Hiding under the nook of a branch he was, and shakin' like a leaf. We found the body of its mum a few yards off."

My hand went to my mouth. "Its mom? You mean she's—'

" 'Fraid so. The old girl must have gotten into a nasty scrape and came out on the wrong end."

"The poor thing," I murmur, genuinely saddened.

Hagrid nods his head in solemn agreement. "Yeah, but that's the wild fer ya. So, do ya want ter see the little feller?"

You can probably guess my answer, which is, of course, affirmative. Yep, curiosity has me in its cat-like paws once again.

"So where is he?"

"I put him out back. Last time I checked he was curled up on one of me pumpkins. They're so cute when they're little."

I follow him into the garden, smiling as Fang comes trotting up along side of us, probably hoping that he's going to get a treat of some sort.

The first things I'm reminded of when I see him is Simba from the Lion King (I loved that movie—I cried my eyes out when Mufasa died). He's about the same size, and has the same gold-brown tint to his fur. The wings nestled around him are of a muddy white and a few of the feathers are sticking out, giving them a mottled, messy look. Hagrid is gazing down at the sleeping form with something that can only be described as fatherly affection and I realize quite quickly that he has a very large soft spot for animals.

"Do ya want ter pet 'im?"

"Can I?" I ask in surprise and hope.

He chuckles. "O' 'course ya can." Tenderly he picks up the griffon, holding him as one might cradle an infant.

I reach my hand out slowly in trepidation and gingerly stroke the cub's soft underside. At my ministrations the griffon gives an absolutely adorable yawn and opens his eyes blearily. His curious brown meet my surprised green and we stare at each other in shared interest before he stats to fidget in Hagrid's arms. Hagrid lets him down and the cub creeps over to my leg and sniffs it hesitantly.

I giggle when his whiskers brush my skin and he responds by giving a little jump and backing up a step. I smile and crouch down, holding out my hand in what I hope is a non-threatening manner. He seems to decide that I'm not a danger and cautiously allows me to pet him, his eyes even closing in bliss when I scratch behind his ear.

"He's adorable," I say in disbelief.

"He is. It's too bad I have ter turn him out inter the forest."

"You what?!" I stand in shock. "You, you can't do that—he won't survive on his own!"

Hagrid sits down dejectedly on a monster of a pumpkin and his eyes well up. "I know, but ever since of an 'incident' I had last year, the Ministry's made it so that I'm not allowed to have any 'potentially dangerous' creatures in me hut or on me grounds."

"But he's _not_ dangerous," I protest, looking down at the little ball of fuzz and feathers as he paws at Fang's tail.

"Not according ter them. They have this stupid list all drawn up of interestin' creatures I'm not allowed ter keep, and griffons are number six."

"So you're just going to abandon him?"

"I don't want ter, but there's nothin' else I can do."

"I'll take him!" The words are out of my mouth before I can even register that I've volunteered. It would seem that my heart likes to act independently of my brain.

Hagrid sniffles and looks at me with hope in his watery eyes. "Yer…yer will?"

Looking at this very large definitely grown man cry nearly settles it for me. I mean, really. I did volunteer, didn't I? I can't exactly back out of it now. Besides—it's a matter of life or death for the little cub, and I have been pretty lonely.

"Yes," I reaffirm, both for him and myself. "Yes, I'll take care of him."

Hagrid gives an exclamation of joy and enwraps my tiny body in a giant of a bear hug. Unable to think of anything else, I pat his shoulder tepidly.

After I've been released from his embrace he bends down and picks up the griffon, placing him in my arms tenderly. While I look down at the cub's furry face Hagrid goes disappears into his hut and then comes out again, holding a leather-bound book. He holds it up in front of him and I recognize the title as '_Hippogriffs and Griffons, the Practical Breeder's Guide_'. The author is some witch name Ermena Graff.

" I bought this when I was still taking care o' Buckbeak. It's got some useful information in it on care and such."

Before I can ask who "Buckbeak" is he nearly thrusts the book into my already occupied hands. The little cub growls briefly at the tome's intrusion but after a slight adjustment he gets comfortable again.

"What are yer goin' ter name him?" Hagrid asks eagerly.

"Name him? Uh…" I look down at the contented griffon in my arms once again, and when his sparkling brown eyes meet mine, showing nothing but innocence and kindness, I realize there's only one thing I _can_ name him.

"Terrance," I say with a smile. "His name will be Terrance."

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10:48 pm

London, Indeterminate Location

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"Got to be a knacker around here somewhere…" Spike growled, his stomach unhappily repeating the sound. He'd spent more than four hours in the storage area of a plane and had been forced to hide for two hours waiting for the bloody sun to go down. Add that to another few hours wandering around the city searching for food and it all made for a very annoyed and hungry vamp.

"Bloody hell," he seethed in growing frustration. "What happened to all the butcheries? One on every corner, if I remember right. Probably tore them down for parking lots or some other nonsense. Ah, here we go. About bloody time."

He quickly strode over to the "Jolly Meats" and went round to the back, checking quickly to see if there were any unwanted viewers before he tore open the door to the rear entrance. Normally he wouldn't even bother looking around first, but having the friggin' chip in his head had made him more cautious, reluctantly acknowledging that he wasn't much use in a fight against a human.

He rummaged through the meat locker, lapping up what he could from the raw meats and feeling ashamed and idiotic all the while.

_Slutty didn't pay enough for this cock-up job,_ he fumed silently as he sucked cold blood out of a steer's thigh.

He hadn't nearly had his fill by the time he'd left, but he just hadn't been able to stand a moment more of acting like a sodding kitten. So what if he was a little hungry the rest of the night? There were more important things that a man had to keep—pride being top of the list. He was a Master vampire, damn it all! He may have been chipped but he was _not_ about to turn into an 'effin poof.

Trying to ignore the remaining pangs of unfulfilled blood lust, Spike absently shook out a ciggie and lit up, drawing the smoke in deeply before releasing it in a slow, deliberate manner through his nostrils.

Walking along the London streets he briefly wondered why the chit had even bothered to come here. Far as he was concerned, London hadn't had anything to offer since the 1500's, back when filth was a fact of life and the smell of blood was aloft in the air. The city had dulled down to a knob since then, and had traded in its brothels and pubs for teatime and tweed. Granted, there were still a few seedy bars around with just enough action to keep a bloke interested, but they were few and far between.

Spike was shaking his head at the shame of it, when he spotted an unusually pale chap darting under one of the lampposts.

_Well now _there's_ a right idea,_ Spike thought with a smirk.

Moving quickly he tailed the fledgling down side-alleys and back-ways, waiting for an opportunity. The obviously inexperienced minion moved like a bulldozer, and made just as much noise, so there was no trouble at all keeping him in sight. Finally his quarry turned into a park, probably heading back to its lair. Spike didn't give him the chance, though. His arm shot out like a bullet and firmly gripped the collar of the fledgling's shirt. The surprised vampire writhed and fought to get out of Spike's clenched fist, but to no avail. The minion turned as best he could and stared up at him with wide, frightened eyes.

"W-what do you want, governor?"

Spike smiled thinly. "Just to talk, mate. To 'shoot the breeze' a bit, if you will." He released his hold to show he meant no harm.

The fledgling visibly relaxed, relieved that he was out of danger. "Cor blimey, but you scared me. There aren't many of our kind around these parts, after all."

Spike couldn't help rolling his eyes. _Terrific. A cockney vampire that gets spooked by his own kind. _Despite his disgust, he managed to give what he hoped was a friendly, non-threatening grin.

"Got a question for you, newbie. I've been tracking down a little witch. Wondering where I might be able to find her."

The vamp scratched his head. "That's a bit of a toughie. Hmm… I'd say your best bet is Diagon Alley, or someplace around there. I haven't been there me-self but I've heard that most of the Wizarding World does business in that area."

Wizarding world? They were still up and running in privacy? Well that was a bit of new news. Angelus had taken him hunting there once (probably to try and get him killed) but that was about the extent of contact that Spike had had with the area. Could Red know about the place? It was a possibility, and one worth checking up on.

The fledgling looked at him uncertainly. "So… are we done here? Can I go?"

Spike nodded. "Sure. Go on."

"Newbie" smiled, started to walk away.

"Oh, wait a tick."

The minion turned back around. "Yeah? What is—"__

The rest of his question never got out, because by then Spike was already on him, with his fangs buried in the boy's neck. He held down the squirming and clawing fledgling easily, and by and by the struggles lessened until there was no resistance at all. Spike stood up and absently wiped his mouth, the yellow eyes of his game face staring with cold amusement at the barely un-dead husk.

"Thanks, mate," Spike laughed, relishing the feel of power. "You've helped a lot."

After staking him, he set off down the street again, a bounce in his step that wasn't there before. Nothing like a full belly and the thrill of the kill to make a bloke feel alive… sort of. True, second-hand blood was never all that tasty, but that wasn't the point. The point was that it had been HUMAN blood. Honest-to-goodness blood from a honest-to-goodness human. He hadn't been able to drink any for over a year and it made him feel abso-bloody-lutely _euphoric_.

He stretched briefly, pure satisfaction on his predatory face.

This little trip might prove fun after all.

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**Review Returns:**

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Cow As White As Milk: "Rolling on floor laughing my ass off"? Who comes up with this stuff?!?! Lol, anywho, thanks for the ROFLMAO, and for the review as well.

AllyCatHerm19: Thanks for the compliments, and yes, this will be a Spike/Willow… eventually.

Naitch03: Mwahaha, thank you. I do so love to write Snape—he's almost as fun as Spike. I'm glad that you're enjoying my story and thank you very much for the compliments!

Spearsister: Yep, possibilities indeed... ((gazes at Spike's chiseled cheekbones and licks lips))

Ligthdemondarkangel: Don't apologize! Looking back on it now I do think I was a little off character with Buffy. Criticism is healthy for a growing writer—I'm glad you gave me some! Hope you enjoyed the chapter!

Samson: Yeah, why don't people pay more attention to Hufflepuff? They're a House, too! Thank you very much for the Snape-related compliments as I've been trying very hard to keep him in character. Thanks again!

Sigma1: Sorry this chapter couldn't have any Snape bashing (at least, not in person0 but I plan on having it next chapter. Thanks for being a faithful reviewer!

Azulkan2: Spike eat Severus? Heh, that would be funny… thanks for the review, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

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Hey, everybody! I hope that you still like my story. Um, I guess this is just a warning that with school steadily approaching, updates might be a bit long in coming. But, not to worry, I'm going to keep writing. This story will not be abandoned. Thanks for all of the interest you've been showing, and I hope to talk to you soon!

Tootles!


	15. Midnight Wanderings

**Disclaimer:** Well, I could claim to own it, but then I'd be breaking the law, and the FBI would track me down, and both Joss Whedon and J.K. Rowling would take turns bitch-slapping me.

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"Good evening, Lucius. The Dark Lord is ready for you."

Lucius nodded in polite acknowledgement, but were it not for the dim lighting Sylvia would have been able to see the disdain in his eyes. The witch was relatively new to the Death Eaters but had already surpassed many of the elder members in importance. As far as Lucius knew, her family wasn't even that old-- just a minor clan, really. That she was regarded with more favor from the Dark Lord than others whose pureblood ancestry could be traced back for centuries was more than irksome—it was unsettling. Could his Lord and Master truly be changing the hierarchy of the association? Was the purity of a wizard's blood waning in importance?

"Lucius?" Sylvia's voice broke in impatiently. "The Dark Lord does not like to be kept waiting."

Ashamed that Sylvia had caught him lost in his thoughts, he grunted something that was supposed to be a reply and strode into Grand Hall.

For someone hiding from aurors, Voldemort was a particularly lavish decorator.

Banners hung from every wall displaying intertwining snakes of green and silver. Serpents flew with fangs outstretched on streamers and slithered their way up and down chairs and tables. A basilisk, woven with painstaking attention to detail, lay coiled tightly on a large and spacious rug. Voldemort himself sat on what could only be described as a throne of some dark and sturdy wood, decorated in the same fashion as the other items in the large, shadowed room. Winding up his arm was a python of some sort, and when Lucius looked into its serpentine eyes he felt small and trapped, suffocating in the gaze.

"Ah, Lucius. I take it you received my summons?"

Lucius blinked, shifted his gaze to the Dark Lord and, remembering himself, bowed deeply. "Yes, My Lord. It was…hard not to." Absently he stroked the Dark Mark branded on his skin.

Voldemort chuckled mirthlessly, his thin lips curling into a smile. "I have called you here, my servant, because you have something to tell me."

The Malfoy was puzzled. "To tell you…?"

"I have caught flashes from your mind. A girl. Something troubled you. Something you thought worth my notice."

In a dizzying rush he remembered. Diagon alley… the redhead… the _power_.

"Willow," he murmured, his eyes unfocused as he searched his memories.

_"What?"_ Voldemort hissed, almost rising from his chair, eyes fiery with interest. _"What was that name?"_

Lucius looked up at him, his curiosity battling his fear. "Willow, my Lord. You know the name?"

The Dark Lord's response was another hiss, one full of anger. "You have met the girl. Where? When?"

Lucius paused. Voldemort was obviously very interested in this news. Was there any way that he could take advantage of his Lord's eagerness and… but no. Lucius's sense of self-preservation kicked in and slapped him upside the head. One did not think about such things- especially not in the presence of the Dark Lord. Upon realization of this fact, Lucius truthfully retold what he remembered from his meeting with the girl.

Voldemort was silent for many a minute, lost in contemplation. Lucius held his breath, not daring to disturb him, and the only sound in the windless room was the steady hiss from the slithering python.

"This changes things," Voldemort said finally, more to himself than his visitor. He trained his eyes upon his servant. "You have done well, Lucius, and I will remember that in the future. Go now, and should you happen to see the girl again, be wary of your actions. I am grateful for this information, but should you spoil this, I will be most… displeased."

Lucius bowed deeply and graciously, and then turned and exited the Grand Hall.

Sylvia stood just outside the door, her wild blue eyes widened in curiosity. "Is our Dark Lord planning something? Has there been some news?"

Giving her an enigmatic smile, which he knew would irk her to no end, he walked off without a word, his dark and crafty mind already at work.

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12:26 am

London, "The Leaky Cauldron"

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Spike looked around, his sneer hidden by the hood of his new cloak. What a bloody pigsty. _This_ was supposed to be the London entrance to the all-powerful Wizarding World? It was too wholesome, too much like a coffeehouse. They could call it a pub as long as they wanted but as far as Spike was concerned this place was not _nearly_ dark and seedy enough to be so well thought of. Leaky Cauldron? Bullocks.

"Up for a drink, mate?"

Spike swiveled around and stared suspiciously at the bartender, a portly, greasy haired man with a toothy grin. Spike forced a smile. "No thanks. Don't fancy coming home cabbaged. The missus wouldn't like it."

The bartender laughed, "I know what you mean. My own wife's always after me about it, and she can do the cruelest things when she puts her mind to it."

Spike didn't much care what the bartender's old cow did to him (or what he did to her, for that matter), but he was beginning to wonder if he might be able to get the man to show him the entrance to the Wizarding World.

"Right, right. Hey, mate, you wouldn't happen to be able to tell me where to find some decent…er… cauldrons, would you? Just moved down from my home Scotland and I'm having trouble finding 'our kind' of shops."

If the bartender had been brighter, he would have wondered at the idea of Spike claiming to be Scottish when he was so obviously British, and would have also been suspicious that such a young looking man was already married. Fortunately for the blonde vampire, however, the bartender was neither suspicious nor bright, and was more than willing to help him.

"No problem. Only… wait, wait just a second." The bartender cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted out into the crowd, "Margaret! Hey, Margaret!"

An older witch looked up from her conversation. "Yeah?"

"I'm taking a break. Watch the bar, will you, love?"

She gave him a look, but nodded in acceptance.

The bartender thanked her and, after coming 'round the bar, threw his large arm around Spike's shoulders. Spike flinched at the unexpected and unwanted touch but, remembering himself, did not give in to the urge to sink his fangs into the mans' thick, meaty neck.

"Come on, mate," laughed the bartender heartily. "Let's go find this cauldron of yours."

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"—And then he tells me that she's a _dwarf_, and I say 'mate, I didn't even know she was a _woman_!'" the bartender laughed raucously at his own joke and slapped his knee, tightening his hold on Spike's shoulders. The blonde vampire forced a smile, trying to pretend that he _didn't_ have an overpowering urge to rip this man's throat open and dance in his blood. Bleeding hell but this man could talk! Yap, yap, yap, on and on… it was enough to make a bloke want to stake himself. He had to find a way to ditch this old codger before his head exploded.

"You know, just remembered I promised my wife I'd be home before twelve to do, uh…. dishes. So, thanks for the buddy-system and all, but-"

"Oh, come on. You haven't even found a cauldron yet, and the night's still young!"

Spike backed away. "A shame, truly is. Thanks for the directions, have a good night, don't eat pork rines 'fore bed, and have a long life."

The bartender watched with a puzzled face as Spike turned a corner and disappeared down the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley.

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Finally out of the bartender's eyesight, Spike almost breathed in relief. It wasn't like the old days. In the old days if he'd wanted to get rid of a bloke, all he'd had to do was rough him up a bit— show him the pearly whites, in a manner of speaking. Now he had to act like a sodding _human_. Blech. Oh how the mighty have fallen…

Taking in his surroundings, Spike realized he was nearing what appeared to be the center of this little shopping mall. There were more people hustling about, despite the late hour, and more of the stores were lit and ready for business. He gazed round, deciding which way to start looking for the little witch.

"Eenie, meenie, minie…" Spike said softly, eyes eerily focused.

He'd been about to start off down a path to his right, when he was rudely interrupted. Something large and bright knocked hit him squarely in the skull, and the vampire shouted in surprise before he was thrown five feet across the cobblestones, into the wall of a shop. He sprang to his feet, teeth bared and eyes lit with rage.

"Shite," whispered the young wizard across from him (one Charlie Blanch, by name), face done up in horror. His friends (quite frightened themselves) backed away from their companion to show that they'd had absolutely _nothing_ to do with the incident. Charlie, recognizing his position, quickly babbled forth his apologies.

"I-I'm s-s-so s-s-sorry, sir, I-I didn't, didn't mean it, I was j-j-just show-showing off to-to my mates, I'm really, really s-sorry…"

Spike slowly approached the boy, the poor, unlucky wretch who should _never_ have gotten out of bed that morning. If he hadn't, he'd still be at home, safe and protected; he certainly wouldn't have been out in the street that evening, messing around with magic, and he most _assuredly_ would not be faced with the very ticked-off vampire standing before him.

"You," Spike hissed, "have just made a _very_ big mistake, _boy_."

But, luckily for Mr. Blanch, Missus Eugena Hopkins, proprietor of "Hopkins's Hats", had seen the whole commotion from her store window and run outside with her wand raised.

"Hey!" she called shrilly, "You get away from that young boy, you nasty succubus!"

" 'Succubus'?" Spike repeated incredulously, completely forgetting his anger. "You bleeding serious?"

But the woman's shouts had attracted attention from other magick folks as well, and it soon became clear to the blonde vampire that it would perhaps be best to move to a less crowded area.

Spike turned tail and ran off, with twelve different would-be-slayers chasing after him, leaving behind one very grateful young wizard, who promptly passed out from relief.

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Spike cursed and grumbled his way up the riverbank, doing his best to wring out the water from his clothing. The self-righteous mob of magick-users had chased him for more than a mile, so relentless in their pursuit that Spike had needed to jump into a river and hide under the cold, rushing water for half an hour, all the while trying desperately _not_ to float to the surface. This was quite the feat, considering that Spike was never one to be deemed as patient.

"Shoulda sliced that kid five ways from Wednesday when I'd had the chance," he muttered, absently touching his head. It didn't hurt, but he felt an odd discomfort that just wouldn't leave his poor skull alone. "Kid could have given me _syphilis_ for all I know. Damn wizards should watch where they're pointing their bloody sticks."

"Harry!"

Spike muttered an obscenity and dived behind a bush.

"Harry?" Hermione repeated, exasperated. "Ron? Look, I'm in no mood for games. We have to get back before someone notices we're gone; we're not supposed to be off school grounds! How you talked me into doing this, I'll never know," she muttered unhappily.

There was movement from a nearby bush, and Hermione eyed it warily. "Harry? …Ron?" she moved toward it with her wand out, suddenly frightened.

"R-Ron? Is that- Oh!" she shrieked, spinning around. "Harry! That was _not_ funny!"

The two boys laughed as they took of the Invisibility Cloak, clearly disagreeing with her.

"Honestly, you should have seen your _face_!" Ron snickered. "You worry _way _too much."

"He's right, 'Mione," Harry agreed. "You are a bit tightly wound."

"Well if _I'm_ tightly wound, it's only because you two are too loose! Do you know how far we are from the school? Not to mention how late it is!"

"I had to know if any of the secret passages had been found since last year," Harry reminded her. "Besides, you did agree to come."

"It was late," she snapped back. "I wasn't thinking right."

"Oh, come on, Hermione," Ron said, rolling his eyes.

"No. We were this close to being spotted! We practically tripped over Professor Rosenberg's feet in the hallway, and friend or not I doubt that she wouldn't report us."

"You're over-exaggerating."

"Am not!"

"Both of you, quit it," Harry told them, looking around as though expecting someone to overhear. He sighed. "All right, all right. We'll go back to the castle now, if you want, Hermione. Let's go, Ron."

Spike waited until he could barely hear them, and then stepped out from his hiding place, a calculating look on his face. "Professor Rosenberg, eh? Now isn't that just the sorta thing Red would get into… s'worth checking out, in either case. 'Sides, I need a place to avoid the sun. A castle sounds right nice."

Silently he trailed after the three teens, able to track them despite the enchanted cloak they shared. He let them lead him into their "secret passageway" and stayed with them until they'd reached the entrance to the school. There, he hung back in the shadows of the tunnel, memorizing the password that he'd use tomorrow, when he'd brake into the halls of Hogwarts to find his missing witch.

X

Hogwarts Castle

1:49am

(**Willow**)

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"Sorry about that, little guy," I apologize to Terrance, carefully unwrapping him from my cloak. "I just don't think you're allowed on school grounds. I mean, I don't actually _know_, 'cause this is a Wizarding school and all, but I do remember that most normal schools would frown upon bringing a griffon cub, no matter how darn cute he is."

Terrance eyes me blearily, yawns, and then nuzzles against my chest.

"Guess you're not all that interested, huh?" I whisper, unable to keep the tenderness out of my voice.

I look around one final time, making sure that nobody's out in the hallway trying to spy (I wouldn't put it past Snape) and slip into my room. As I lay down some of my robes in the corner, creating a makeshift bed for the sleeping angel in my arms, I realize again how lucky I was not to have been spotted coming up here. Hagrid wouldn't let me leave without taking the cub, despite my promises that I'd pick him up _tomorrow_ when it was actually _light_ outside. He'd been too afraid of the Ministry showing up unexpectedly, or some bratty student running off to tell on him. On my way back to the school, I'd been so frightened of being found out that I swore someone had seen me almost five times. Once, in the hallway, I had gotten such a strong feeling of being spotted that I'd frozen up completely, and hadn't been able to move for like six minutes. Somebody up there must be watching out for me though, 'cause I'd made it back okay.

I carefully lay Terrance down in his new bed, and though he fidgets uncomfortably for a moment, ruffling his wings and stretching his paws, he settles down quickly enough. I guess the excitement must have worn him out. I still can't believe that he's mine now, but that's not to say I am in _any_ way upset that he's going to stay with me. I think… I think we kinda need each other. He's all alone in the world, no friends or family to look out for him, and though I have both friends and family, I couldn't feel more alone if I tried. I know that I shouldn't treat him like a replacement Terra (how could I?) and I understand that I can't have him forever (griffons grow older too), but I think that, for right now at least, it'll be okay. I need him, and he needs me, and that's all that really matters.

I stare down at him with love, suppressing a yawn as I reach down to stroke his fur.

"I think we'll keep each other company, little guy, and I'll watch over you. I won't let anything bad happen to you- I promise."

And so swearing, I climb beneath the sheets of my bed and go swiftly and softly to sleep.

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**Review Returns:**

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Cow As White As Milk: Yeah, I love Terrance too… sigh If only I had a griffon of my own…

Sigma 1: Yeah, it was a bit short, and I'm afraid this one isn't much longer, but thanks for the Willow-speak compliment. I try, I really do.

Raclswt: Whoa, slow down and take a breather. Yeah, Spike's coming to Hogwarts (obviously) and I appreciate your enthusiasm, but I'm afraid that Snape will NOT be getting together with Willow. When I write that they hate each other, I really DO mean it. ;D Thanks for the review!

Spearsister: Good review I thanks. ;D

Whispering Darkness: Okay, I will! Thanks for the review!

Faith's Lies: Yeah, I know. wince It has been… quite some time since I've updated… sorry. But I'm here now! See? Iot wasn't abandoned, honest! Thanks for the review (and the nudge).

The Cardboard Moon: "sque"? That's a new one. And yes, I also hope that Snape's comeuppance is in the cards, but a good writer never truly knows where their story will go… I guess we'll both just have to wait and find out. Thanks for the review!

Ambrosine: All right, before I say anything else, let me just tell you "thank-you". It might have been another month or two before I updated, had it not been for the review I received from you. The fact that someone was still interested in my story…. That they'd taken a chance on Willow-goes-to-Hogwarts… It inspired me to finish this chapter. So, once again, thank you, and I hope to receive more reviews from you in the future. (Psst- Snape and Willow are my favorite pairing too! ;D)

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I don't know when I'll update again, but hopefully it won't take as long as this one did. Thank you again for all of your support, and I hope to be hearing from you soon.

Tootles!


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